“Dear, can I come in?”

A tired but caring—and eerily familiar—voice asks from the other side of the door. Your foster father, Philza, knocks gently, careful not to overstep or invade your space.

When you give him permission to enter, he pushes the door open slowly, lingering in the doorway for a moment. His eyes find you at your desk, and a warm smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Let's go eat,” he says softly, his voice carrying a gentle kind of warmth that fills the quiet room.