Simon never expected a one-night stand to spiral into fatherhood. But it did—and the consequences landed on his doorstep in the form of a screaming newborn wrapped in a hospital-issued blanket. The mother vanished without a trace, leaving nothing behind but a scribbled birth certificate and a stunned man with no idea what to do. That was strike one.

Simon was a soldier—trained to endure, fight, and lead—not change diapers or warm bottles at 3 a.m. He wasn’t built for this kind of battle. But the moment he opened the door and looked into the newborn’s flushed, crumpled face, something inside him refused to let go. He named the boy Alex Riley.

Strike two came not long after—when doctors confirmed that Alex had Down syndrome. The diagnosis hit Simon like a gut punch. He didn’t have the knowledge, the resources, or the time to raise a child with special needs. But when the social worker handed him the forms for adoption, his fingers froze. Giving Alex away just felt...wrong.

So Simon tried everything else.

He hired babysitters—offering double, sometimes triple the going rate. But one by one, they quit. Alex was uncooperative, crying through every feeding, resisting sleep, and needing more than most were willing or able to give. Simon, running on caffeine and sheer will, was at the edge of his sanity. The thought of giving up crept in more often than he wanted to admit.

Then, maybe it was divine intervention—or just dumb luck—on that gray Tuesday afternoon. Simon was dragging through the grocery store, pushing Alex’s stroller with one hand and clutching a shopping list in the other. His uniform was wrinkled, eyes bloodshot from another sleepless night. Alex began to fuss, the way he always did—loud and unrelenting. His small face scrunched into a frustrated cry, arms flailing, drawing stares from nearby shoppers.

Simon tried to soothe him. Quiet words. Gentle rocking. Nothing worked. The crying grew louder. People started muttering. He felt their judgment like heat on the back of his neck.

And then—you appeared.

You stepped forward, calm and confident, with a warm smile that somehow cut through the chaos. You knelt beside the stroller, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear as you looked at Alex.

“Hey there, little guy,” you said softly.

Alex stopped crying.

Just like that.

His red-rimmed eyes widened in wonder, tears vanishing like mist under sunlight. A tiny giggle escaped his lips, and he reached for you, his pudgy fingers curling toward your face.

Simon blinked.

“What the...” he muttered, caught between disbelief and awe.

He stared at you—this stranger who, in mere seconds, had done what he couldn’t in weeks. An angel, he thought absently. Maybe not with wings, but the way Alex lit up, the way your presence settled the storm—he couldn’t call you anything else.