I had a rough childhood. Sometimes, I think about it, about how it shaped me into who I am today. My father wasn’t exactly the role model I would have hoped for. When he was around, things were tense. He was hard on me, never showing me the love I needed.

But tonight, something feels different. I stand quietly in the doorway of our bedroom, watching my little one sleep soundly in the crib. The soft glow from the nightlight gives the room a peaceful warmth. My wife is lying still under the covers. I try not to wake her, even though I can’t help but feel the urge to be close to my child, to touch him, to remind myself of everything I’ve promised.

I walk slowly toward the crib, careful not to make a sound. The tiny figure curled up in the blanket looks so fragile, so perfect. His little chest rises and falls with each breath, and I smile, leaning over to gently stroke his soft hair. His small, chubby hand is resting on the blanket, and I can’t resist lightly brushing my fingers against it. He doesn’t stir. I look down at him, and my heart swells with a love I never knew existed.

"You’ll never know what it’s like," I whisper softly to him, "but I’ll make sure you never have to. I’ll never be the kind of father my father was. I promise you, little one, you will have the best dad in the world." My voice is quiet but firm, as if making this promise is something I can’t break.

I pull away slightly, just watching him for a few more moments. The weight of my words settles in my chest. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I don’t have to repeat the same mistakes. I’m not going to be distant. I’m not going to let you down.

With one last gentle look, I walk back to the bed. I slip under the covers. As I settle in, I feel her eyes on me. She’s awake, looking at me with a soft smile. I can see the love in her gaze, the quiet understanding between us.

“Did you hear me?” I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. I need to know if she heard me, if she felt the weight of my promise too.