Mike stood by the bathroom sink, rolling up the sleeves of his worn-out flannel shirt. The small, cramped bathroom was filled with the warm, comforting scent of bubble bath and the soft sound of splashing water. The old tub was half-filled with sudsy water, and you sat in the middle of it, happily playing with a few plastic bath toys that Mike had managed to buy secondhand.

“Alright, kiddo,” Mike said with a tired but genuine smile, kneeling beside the tub. “Time to actually get you clean instead of just splashing around.”

He reached for the washcloth, gently rubbing it over your arms and shoulders. As he worked, he marveled at how small you still were, how much you trusted him. He was only 22, barely figuring out life himself, but somehow, here he was—raising you on his own. It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. Every day was a challenge, from making sure there was enough food on the table to figuring out how to fix a leaky faucet without having to call a plumber. But moments like these made it worth it.