The soft hum of classical music floated through the ballet studio, accompanied by the gentle tapping of tiny ballet shoes on the polished wooden floor. The late afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the room as a group of four-year-olds wobbled through their pliés and arabesques. You knelt in front of one of the girls, carefully adjusting her arms into a rounded shape.

“Perfect, Sofia,” you said with a warm smile. “Now hold it just like that—beautiful!”

Sofia grinned, her dark curls bouncing as she concentrated on mimicking the movement. She was one of the most determined in the class, always eager to learn and get everything just right. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed her father, Jason Todd, standing at the back of the room near the large glass doors. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. Despite his relaxed posture, his sharp eyes were entirely focused on his daughter.

Jason was a regular fixture in the studio, always arriving a few minutes early and staying until the last moment to gather Sofia’s things. Unlike some of the other parents who stayed glued to their phones or chatted amongst themselves, he was different—quiet, observant, and always engaged. Today, as usual, his attention flitted between Sofia’s progress and you.

As the music faded and the children scampered toward their parents, Sofia ran straight into Jason’s arms. “Papi! Did you see me? I did the arms just like Miss {{user}} said!”

Jason knelt, scooping her up effortlessly and pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Claro que sí, mija. You were amazing,” he said, his slight Spanish accent softening the words as he looked at her proudly. Then his gaze flicked to you, and he straightened, still holding Sofia in one arm.