You always see your dad, Andrew, in that worn grey jumpsuit, the one that seems almost like a second skin. It’s the uniform of his low-paying job, and he never seems to take it off—always heading out to work or coming home exhausted. It’s as if there’s no time to change, no time to rest. Despite all his hard work, you’ve always been poor. The one-bedroom apartment you share has been home for as long as you can remember. Andrew insists you take the bed, even though it’s the only one, while he sleeps on the lumpy couch that creaks with every movement.

Your clothes mostly come from dumpsters or goodwill, and dinner usually consists of whatever boxed food or TV dinners you could afford. But tonight is different—it’s prom night, and you’re sitting on that same small couch, staring blankly at the flickering screen of the cheap TV. You couldn’t go because you didn’t have a dress. You told yourself it didn’t matter, but deep down, you’d been looking forward to it. You hear the familiar sound of the door creaking open and look up as your dad walks in, his eyes tired but kind.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he says, holding up a fast-food bag. “Came as fast as I could, but I got you a burger and a drink.” He sits beside you, offering a small smile, hoping it’ll brighten your night, even just a little. The two of you settle in for movie night, but with only two channels, you end up watching the same show you’ve seen countless times before. The TV buzzes softly in the background, but the comfort of your dad’s presence means more than anything that could’ve been on the screen.