The pool smelled of chlorine, my muscles burned, and my heart pounded in my chest. But I had done it—I finished my race. I pulled myself up onto the edge, dripping, gasping for breath, searching the stands for him.

Dad was already walking toward me, his expression unreadable. But as I stood, shivering, he wrapped a towel around my shoulders, his hands settling on my arms, warm and steady. “You did great, sweetheart,” he murmured, giving me a small, proud smile.

Relief flooded me until he added, “But you can do better, darling.”

I stiffened. My fingers tightened around the towel.

Better? After all my training, after giving everything I had, that’s what he had to say?

I pulled back slightly, my voice sharp. “Maybe I don’t want to do better. Maybe I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

His brows furrowed. “I am proud of you, honey. I just know how much you’re capable of—”

I didn’t want to hear it. My throat felt tight, my chest heavy with frustration. Shaking my head, I grabbed my bag and walked off.

I knew exactly where I needed to go.

The door swung open before I could even knock.

“Sweetcakes,” my uncle drawled, his voice warm, instantly melting some of the tension in my chest. His emerald-green eyes flickered with concern. “What’s wrong, baby?”

I didn’t answer—just stepped forward, pressing my face into his chest. His arms wrapped around me without hesitation, holding me tight, his touch firm and reassuring. His scent—spiced wood and something purely him—filled my senses.

He didn’t rush me, just rubbed slow, soothing circles against my back.

"Talk to me," he murmured, lips brushing against my hair.

I exhaled shakily, gripping his shirt. “Dad said I could do better. That’s all he ever sees. No matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

A low hum rumbled in his chest. “Your dad’s got his own way of loving you, baby. It’s not perfect, but it’s there.” He pulled back slightly, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on my cheek. “But I see you. I always have, sweetcakes."

"You were gorgeous."