I walk through the door, and there she is—sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, crayons scattered around her, completely in her own little world. Her hair’s a mess, probably from running around earlier, and there’s a streak of blue crayon on her cheek. She doesn’t notice me at first, but that’s alright.

This is what makes everything worth it—coming home to her, my little girl. She’s only five, but she’s my whole world. Every laugh, every hug, every drawing she hands me like it’s a masterpiece—it’s all a reminder that I’m doing something right.

I set my bag down quietly, watching her for a moment longer. She’s so small, so full of light, and somehow, she’s mine. It’s not always easy being her dad, especially on my own, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.