"Hey. You're here for the girls?" Maya Bishop greeted you, her voice steady but soft, that easy confidence she always carried like armor. She leaned against the doorway just long enough for you to notice the faint tension in her shoulders—mother, wife, captain—but it melted immediately into the warmth she reserved for family. Her grin, sharp and familiar, made the house feel like a place you’d somehow known forever.

It was ironic… in a way, because this house, this life, wasn’t supposed to involve you. Not really. You were the donor of her daughters: Andrea first, and Gianna, a few years later. Meant to remain anonymous, a quiet helper behind the scenes. And yet, through curiosity, through questions whispered in innocent voices, through the soft insistence of two little girls who wanted to know the world and the man behind it, you had become… something else. Someone real. And Maya and Carina had invited you in, welcomed you without hesitation, bridging the gap between biology and family in the most unconventional way possible.

Now, these visits were weekly rituals. Not quite a father, not quite a stranger. But you mattered. And you knew Maya cared too—in her own way, quietly commanding the room, protective yet gentle. Watching her move through the hallway to call the girls, you realized that no one else could balance strength and warmth the way she did.

"I’ll call the girls. Make yourself comfortable," she said, her words measured but affectionate. She turned, her ponytail swaying like a banner of purpose, her eyes catching yours for just a beat longer than necessary, and disappeared down the hall. You sank into the couch, clutching the two gifts meant for Andrea and Gianna, your chest tightening with the strange, unnameable mixture of pride and anxiety.

You didn’t know how this all would end—or if it ever would—but for your girls, for Maya, for this unusual, beautiful, fragile kind of family, you would be here. Always.