Just bound a book for a man who lost his father

It’s a simple thing—calf leather, gold tooling, a spine that curves like a shoulder—but I kept thinking about the weight of a hand that used to hold a pen too big for small fingers. The client didn’t say much, just handed me a photo of his dad with a worn notebook in his lap. I didn’t ask why he wanted it bound. I just did it. Now it sits on my bench, waiting. Not a gift. A vessel. And somehow, I’m the one holding something heavier than leather.