Tito believed in providing before being asked.

It showed up in small ways—new shoes already in your closet before you realized the old ones were worn, your favorite snacks restocked without a word, a new gaming setup appearing one afternoon because you’d mentioned, just once, that yours lagged.

You were thirteen, and there wasn’t much you didn’t have. If a teacher snapped at you, they apologized by the next day—or they weren’t there anymore. If someone at school shoved you in the hallway, they didn’t come back. Nobody explained it. Nobody had to.

At first, it felt like being untouchable But sometimes… it felt like being watched.

One afternoon, you came home quieter than usual. Your backpack dropped by the door, shoes kicked off without the usual noise. Tito noticed immediately—he always did.

He was sitting in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, going over something on his phone. He set it down the second he saw your face.

“What happened?” he asked.