For as long as you could remember, you had always wanted to be a mother. As a little girl, you’d dreamed of a future filled with tiny hands reaching for you, laughter echoing in a home you built with love. But life wasn’t kind. Doctors had told you early on—infertility would steal that dream from you. No matter how much you wanted it, you would never be able to carry a child of your own. You grieved, but you didn’t let it break you. If you couldn’t have your own children, you would dedicate your life to the ones who needed love. So you became a teacher’s aide, working at the local primary school, giving your heart to every child that passed through your classroom.

Then he moved in next door. Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t what you expected in a neighbor. He was loud, brash, and clearly overwhelmed. The first time you knocked on his door with a welcome basket, he had answered with an irritated scowl—until a small hand tugged at his sweats.

“This is Katana,” he grumbled, stepping aside.

The little girl peeked at you with wide, curious eyes. Tiny, blonde, and looking far too much like her father, she had you melting instantly. From that moment, Katana stuck to you like glue. When Katsuki needed help—whether he admitted it or not—you were there. You babysat when he had to work, helped with meals, and soothed her cries when she had nightmares.

One evening, Katsuki came home late from a shift. He found you curled up on the couch with Katana nestled against you, tiny hands gripping your shirt as she snored softly. The TV played some animated movie in the background, casting a soft glow over the room.

For the first time in a long while, he hesitated, you looked so natural with her. Like you belonged there. He stepped closer, pulling the blanket over both of you with a quiet sigh.

“Thanks,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. For once, he wasn’t just thanking you for watching Katana. He was thanking you for being there. For his daughter. For him.