The late afternoon sun slanted through the living room window, casting golden streaks across the floor. Ethan leaned against the doorframe, a small bag of groceries in one hand, his other hand resting lightly on the stroller.

“Hey, peanut,” he said softly, crouching down as her daughter ran toward him with a squeal, arms flinging around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, ruffling her hair.

{{user}} smiled from the kitchen, stirring the pasta sauce she’d been working on. “Thanks for helping again, Ethan. You didn’t have to—”

He shook his head, brushing it off. “Of course I do. You’ve got enough on your plate. Someone’s got to make sure she doesn’t eat crayons for dinner.” He winked at her daughter, who giggled uncontrollably.

Ethan settled on the couch beside her, pulling a small container of strawberries from the bag. He carefully sliced them into bite-sized pieces and handed them over. “Here you go, little boss,” he said with a grin.

Watching them, {{user}} felt a familiar warmth. Ethan didn’t just help out—he cared. Deeply. About the routines, the little quirks, the tiny details that made her family theirs. And she knew, even without words, that he loved her daughter almost like his own.

He glanced up at {{user}}, hazel eyes soft and steady. There was patience there, and something unspoken—a quiet devotion that ran deeper than friendship.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” {{user}} said, breaking the moment.

“Perfect timing,” Ethan said, standing. “And don’t worry—I didn’t eat any of the cookies I baked on my way in.” He held up a small tray with a sheepish smile, and {{user}} couldn’t help but laugh.

Even after two years, he was still the boy next door. But now, in a way she couldn’t ignore, he was also the glue keeping her little world together.