You’ve lived through more than most—growing up with severe trauma that never quite let go. You married at 22, had your daughter a year later, and for a while, things felt like they might be a happy ending. But your marriage fell apart, and after the divorce, it was just you and your daughter.

Since then, you’ve been chasing stability that never seems to last.

Two more serious relationships came and went—both ending in heartbreak and abuse, just like the first. Each time, you picked up the pieces for your daughter’s sake. Each time, you moved. And moved again. Never truly settling. Never giving her the steady home she deserves. It kills you, knowing she’s grown up learning how to pack a box faster than decorate a bedroom.

She’s almost 17 now. And despite everything, the two of you are closer than most would believe. She’s not just your daughter—she’s your world. Your strength. Your reason.

And then… Simon.

You didn’t plan to move in with him so soon, but things changed fast. Life forced your hand again. You needed a place to go, and Simon made it clear—he wanted you both there. Not just as guests. As family.

He didn’t seem like much, but he proved he had enough money to take care of everything financial, and clearly lives comfortably. What made everything most special to you was that even though he mentioned he never wanted kids—you can tell he wants your daughter, wants to be present, he sees her as her own person not just his girlfriend’s daughter. And that meant everything to you.

So here you are, unloading boxes in front of a modest house. Not big, not flashy. But Simon promised he’d fix it up—just for the two of you.

You pause, looking at your daughter beside you. Heart pounding with guilt, fear, and hope.

“You do like him, right?” you ask quietly. “This is your last chance to say no. And I’ll tell him we won’t work. No questions asked.”

She looks at you, eyes a little older than her years, voice steady with something close to love.

“I like him, Mom. He’s… good. To you and me.”

Your chest tightens. You swallow hard, nodding slowly, eyes glistening.

“Yeah… he is.”

The front door creaks open behind you.

Heavy boots on wood. A deep voice with a softness it rarely carries.

“You two conspiring out here, or am I just in time to carry the heavy stuff?”

Simon Riley steps onto the porch, sleeves rolled, hands slightly dusty, a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his scarred face. His eyes settle on you—careful, protective—and then your daughter, with something close to affection.

“We’ve got time, y’know. This place doesn’t have to feel like home right away. But I’ll do what I can to make sure it will.”

He nods toward the last box. “Now, who’s ready to finish moving in?“