Simon Riley, your adopted son, had just returned from school. He walked in with a slumped posture, the exhaustion from his day weighing heavily on him. His eyes, usually sharp and observant, were clouded with a familiar weariness. As soon as his gaze landed on you, a reflexive flinch ran through his body, his shoulders tensing in anticipation of something he had known all too well from his past.

For years, he had lived in fear of fists, harsh words, and the sting of disappointment. But today was different. You weren’t the figure he feared anymore. You weren’t here to hurt him. You were here to help him, to offer the safety he had never known.

The old instincts took over momentarily—he was waiting for a blow, a harsh reprimand—but when none came, he slowly exhaled, realizing this was a different kind of moment. Your presence wasn’t a threat; it was a quiet reassurance. You saw him for who he was, not the product of the trauma he had endured. You saw the boy beneath the layers of defense and deflection, the boy who had learned to shield himself from the world, but who now had a chance at healing.