Simon Riley never asked for any of this. Fifteen years old and already crushed under the weight of responsibility most grown men would buckle beneath. The moment the baby let out its first cry, she vanished. No note. No goodbye. Just gone. One minute she was holding his hand in the hospital room, whispering weak apologies, the next he was alone—alone with a screaming infant and a heart ripped in two.

His old man wasn’t any help. More like another problem. A beer-soaked ghost of a father who only stumbled home to curse at the walls or pass out on the couch, choking on his own bitterness. Simon learned quickly not to expect warmth. He got silence, thrown bottles, and the ever-present stench of rot and regret.

He tried to keep it together. School by day, baby by night. He hadn’t slept more than two hours straight in weeks. His eyes were sunken hollows, bones sharp beneath skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in too long. He didn’t have money—not really. What little he scrounged went to nappies and formula. And when it didn’t? He stole. Not because he wanted to. Because he had no other choice.

He remembered the last time. The store security caught him stuffing nappies and a tin of formula into an old school bag. He tried to walk out, head low, the baby’s tiny blanket peeking out the top. They stopped him. Asked what was in the bag. He just stood there, fists clenched, eyes burning. Then one of them noticed. The blanket. The dark shadows beneath his eyes. The way his fingers trembled. They let him go. Said nothing. Just… let him go.

He never forgot that. He never forgot anything.

Simon rocked the baby now, sitting on the edge of his too-thin mattress in a room that stank of mildew and cigarettes. The bottle was half-empty, his arms aching, heart heavier than ever. His dad was passed out downstairs, muttering nonsense in his sleep. Rain tapped the window like it was trying to get in.

Simon swallowed hard, throat tight. He looked down at the bundle in his arms, pale and warm and innocent. “I’m tryin’, little one,” he whispered. “I swear I am.”