Giving up proves easier than he expected.
There are complications: he has no legal identity to speak of, let alone the means for a will.
These worries will ripen into necessities: Din's arthritic knees are testament to a decade's fruitless searching, while the child has hardly aged a day.
But these are problems for a different afternoon.
"Welcome home," he murmurs, cradling his son against his neck as they cross the threshold of their new home. The child's warm breath against his skin remains a source of wonder after all these years.
Din knows that even permanence is temporary. All things within this moment must pass: this day, this house, himself.
But for now, with his child in his arms, the moment is more than enough.