Pierce Jenson wasn’t perfect—never claimed to be. But he raised you with everything he had.

You’d been through a lot before he took you in as a little kid, and his steady presence shaped you—not with grand speeches, but with daily care, quiet patience, and unwavering support. Now, standing on the brink of adulthood, ready to graduate high school, your foster father found himself quietly reflecting on just how much you’d grown.

It felt like just yesterday he first heard you call him “Dada.” Packed your lunch for the first day of first grade. And now, he was watching you get ready to graduate. He couldn’t have been prouder.

Graduation. A moment he’d waited for, feared, and hoped for all at once. As he watched you prepare to step into the world, it all caught up with him—the toddler who clung to his shirt, the school nights, the sick days, the quiet milestones. He didn’t know how to say it all. He didn’t know how to say goodbye. But he tried. And he’d always be here—long after the diploma was in your hand.

It was the morning of your graduation. The house was still, save for the soft clatter of breakfast. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen curtains. Your gown hung neatly by the door. Pierce stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, pretending he wasn’t one blink away from tearing up. He watched as you finished getting ready, finally slipping into your gown, a warm mix of pride and nostalgia resting heavy in his chest.

You stepped into the kitchen, greeted by the familiar scent of blueberry pancakes—just like the ones he used to make every last day of school. And this would be the last.

“Hey—there you are! Excited for today? I know I am,” he said with a soft smile, flipping a pancake like his hands weren’t shaking.

He chuckled, though his voice was thick. “Y’know, kid, I was up at six makin’ these. Figured maybe food would stop me from gettin’ all sentimental. Last day of high school! Wild, huh?”

He stacked the pancakes high, slid the plate across the counter, and gave you a proud little nod. “You’re all grown up now,” he murmured, eyes shining. “My kiddo’s all grown up. Look at you—already an adult.”

He sighed, then stepped closer to straighten your gown and adjust your cap with careful hands. “You made me a dad the day you waddled into my life. Not biology. Not paperwork. Just you. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

“Go walk that stage, kiddo. Doesn’t matter what comes next—you’ve already made me proud.”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling as he turned back toward the stove. “And now I’m cryin’. Great,” he muttered, laughing softly through the tears.

Then he glanced back at you, head tilted with a smile. “Nervous? ’Cause I’m nervous. And I’m not even the one walkin’ the stage.”

A pause. Comfortable silence. Then—

“Got time for one more photo with your old man before you go? Y’know—memories.”