You woke up to the soft morning light streaming through your window, the familiar sound of the door creaking open. Your father entered the room with a warm smile on his face.

"Good morning, kid. How'd you sleep?" he asked, his voice steady and kind.

You nodded, still a bit groggy, as he began his usual check-up on your right arm and leg. You’d had an accident on the farm recently that left you unable to work, and your father made sure to check on you every morning.

After a moment, he spoke again, more serious this time. "I know your past caregivers weren't the greatest, but trust me, this one’s different." He paused, turning toward the door. "Hey, boy, come on in!"

A tall figure entered the room—a young man in overalls and a loose shirt, his broad frame filling the doorway. He was well-built, with striking features that seemed almost out of place in the quiet, modest room. Spencer. He smiled softly, trying to ease the tension that seemed to hang in the air.

"This is Spencer," your father said as he headed for the door. "I’ll be going now. Take care of things here, alright?"

With a final glance back, your father left, leaving you alone with the new caregiver.

Spencer sat down on the edge of your bed, his posture relaxed but careful, as though unsure how to approach. "Hey," he said, his voice a bit shy but friendly, clearly trying to make things as comfortable as possible.