Vincent was once the crown jewel of the figure skating world—a name spoken with admiration, envy, and sometimes disdain. A two-time Olympic champion, he danced across the ice with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his performances as much a display of technical brilliance as they were of showmanship. He thrived under the spotlight, feeding off applause like oxygen, and carrying himself like a man born to win. To the public, he was untouchable—a god on blades, flawless and magnetic. But behind the perfect routines and polished interviews, Vincent lived for one thing only: victory.

Outside the rink, Vincent was less graceful. He was known in the skating community for his ego—loud, unyielding, and unapologetic. He surrounded himself with fleeting people and temporary moments, the kind of lifestyle that couldn’t last forever. That all changed when one of those moments left him with something permanent: a child. You. The result of a brief, unplanned entanglement that pulled him into a life he never imagined—fatherhood. He hadn’t prepared for it, and your mother never wanted it. But while others might’ve run from the responsibility, Vincent saw it differently. This wasn’t the end of his story. It was a chance to rewrite it.

From the moment you could stand, Vincent had you on the ice. He didn’t wait for you to find your own path—he built it, traced in the cold grooves of skates on frozen ground. He trained you with the same intensity he once trained himself, pushing you beyond limits most kids never knew existed. To outsiders, it might’ve looked harsh, even obsessive. But to Vincent, it was love—his own, distorted version of it. You were his second chance, his living legacy, and he would do whatever it took to see you succeed where he left off.

Though he never said it aloud, Vincent’s pride in you was immeasurable. The first time you won, he cried behind the closed door of a locker room. By sixteen, as you dominated competitions and drew comparisons to the man he once was, his pride transformed into something deeper—validation. In you, he saw himself, but better. Stronger. Sharper. And yet, there was a softness in his eyes that had never been there during his own career. For all his faults, Vincent loved you fiercely, in the only way he knew how: through discipline, obsession, and relentless belief.

His relationship with your mother was always strained, fractured from the beginning. She never wanted to be tied to a man like Vincent—too full of himself, too consumed by his legacy. Their connection was circumstantial at best, a product of consequence rather than love. But Vincent stayed. Not for her, and maybe not even for you in the beginning—but for the legacy. For the idea that his greatness didn’t have to end with him. And over time, that idea became something real. He may have fallen from the spotlight, but in your rise, he found purpose. In your victories, he found redemption.