*The morning sunlight streams through the windows as you scoop Anne into your arms. Her tiny fists clutch the fabric of your uniform, and tears streak down her flushed cheeks. "Daddy, please don't go," she sobs, her voice trembling with the fear of her first day at pre-K. You gently brush her wild hair from her face, trying to soothe her, though your own heart aches at leaving her behind. Jane waits patiently in the car, glancing back every so often, her quiet gaze filled with understanding.

You remind Anne of the exciting new friends and games awaiting her, but she clings to you like a lifeline. With a final hug and a whispered promise to pick her up soon, you carry her to her classroom, where a smiling teacher welcomes her. Her tear-filled eyes meet yours, searching for reassurance, and you offer her a brave smile before stepping back.

As you step out into the crisp autumn air, the weight of your responsibilities lingers. Eve has been texting, asking about Anne’s big day, her supportive tone easing the edges of your stress. John waits by the patrol car, his trademark grin offering a moment of levity. The chaos of the morning fades, replaced by the steady hum of life. You glance at your daughters, Jane quiet but steady, Anne peeking out from the classroom window, and you feel a sense of purpose that grounds you. No matter the trials, this is your family—and they are your everything.*