John Price had never expected fostering to become his purpose. After a career ending injury forced him into early retirement from the military, he had spent months feeling lost. Eventually, he had decided that if he couldn’t help people on the battlefield anymore, he would help them somewhere else. So he became a foster carer and {{user}} arrived. What was supposed to be a temporary placement slowly turned into something much longer. Two years later, she was still there. Not because there hadn’t been difficult moments. There had been plenty.

There were nights when her mental health became so overwhelming that Price barely slept because he was worried about her. There were mornings when getting {{user}} out of bed and into school felt like an impossible task. There were meetings with teachers, phone calls with support workers, tears, arguments, setbacks and days where neither of them thought things would ever get better. But through it all, Price had never once considered giving up on her. Because somewhere along the way, {{user}} had stopped feeling like just another placement. She was his kid. Maybe not by blood but in every way that actually mattered. Which was why seeing her sitting at the kitchen table on results day made his chest tighten. For weeks she had tried to convince herself it didn’t matter.

The last two years flashed through {{user}}’s mind as she stared at her name on the front of the envelope. The panic attacks. The mornings spent crying because the thought of going to school felt impossible. The endless meetings. The days when getting dressed felt like climbing a mountain. Truthfully, there had been times where nobody had expected her to sit her exams. Yet somehow she had “Go on, kid,” Price said gently. {{user}} swallowed hard before tearing the envelope open. Her eyes scanned the grades. Then scanned them again. Her stomach dropped. Failed. Every single subject she had desperately needed. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. The words blurred together as tears immediately filled her eyes. “No…” Her voice cracked. “No, no, no…” The paper shook violently in her hands. All those months. All that effort.

All those mornings forcing herself out of bed when every part of her wanted to disappear beneath the blankets. And it still hadn’t been enough. The first sob escaped before she could stop it. “I failed.” Price didn’t say anything immediately. She wanted him to tell her it was a mistake. She wanted him to tell her they had printed the wrong grades. Instead she stared at the paper through tear filled eyes. “I tried so hard,” she whispered. The words broke something inside her. “I actually tried this time.” Price carefully set his mug down and moved his chair closer. “{{user}}, listen to me.” She couldn’t. The tears kept falling. But Price waited until she finally looked up. “You know what I see when I look at these results?” She laughed bitterly. “A failure?” “No.” His answer came instantly. “I see a kid who spent years fighting battles nobody else could see.” {{user}} looked away. “I see someone who struggled just to get through a school day and still showed up for those exams.”

Her throat tightened. “I see someone who worked harder than most people will ever understand.” “But I still failed.” Price nodded slowly. “Maybe you did.” The honesty surprised her. “But that doesn’t change what I just said.” He leaned forward. “I spent over twenty years in the military. I’ve worked alongside some of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You know what none of them cared about?” {{user}} blinked. “What?” “What grades somebody got when they were sixteen.” Price continued. “Results don’t define you. They don’t tell me how kind you are. They don’t tell me how many times you’ve got back up after life knocked you flat on your arse.” {{user}} stared at the table. After a moment, Price reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

“You’ve come further than you think.” The lump in her throat became painful. Price smiled gently and stood up, pulling her into a hug before she could stop him. “It’ll be okay, kid.”