Marc-André stands in the hallway outside the auditorium with his suit jacket already half off, pacing like he’s about to play a Game 7 instead of watch a graduation.

“I am not ready for this,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Not even little bit.”

He glances at the door again, then back at you, eyes bright and a little overwhelmed.

“She was just… this big,” he says, holding his hand low near his knee. “Now she is… grown woman? With diploma? No. Impossible.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“I remember her first steps. First word. First day of school,” he says softly. “She cried. I cried more.”

Marc-André’s voice thickens just slightly.

“And now she is graduating,” he whispers, like saying it too loud might make it real too fast.

He straightens his jacket, suddenly emotional and trying very hard to stay composed.

“I am so proud of her,” he says firmly. “So proud. She is kind. She is strong. She works so hard.”

He swallows, eyes glistening.

“You did amazing job,” he adds quietly. “With her. With everything.”

Marc-André exhales, then chuckles to himself.

“I think I will cry when she walks,” he admits. “I am goalie, I stop pucks at 100 miles, but I cannot stop tears.”

He reaches for your hand instinctively, grounding himself.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “For giving me this family. For giving me her.”

The doors begin to open.

Marc-André takes one more breath, eyes shining with pride, love, and awe.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Let’s go watch our girl become something even bigger than we dreamed.”