I have two kids—a son and a daughter—and I’m not with their mother. It’s just the three of us. But for the past year, I’ve been seeing you. You, who are now in the other room, keeping a promise to my daughter even after our stupid fight.

You were always like that—keeping your word, even when I was being an idiot.

I was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the TV, though I wasn’t really watching. My son plopped down next to me, his little legs barely reaching the edge of the cushion. He didn’t say anything at first, just glanced toward the hallway where you had disappeared. Then he turned to me, eyes serious, too wise for his age.

“Dad,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “We really like {{user}}. We don’t want to lose her. You better fix this.”

I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face. “You think so, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I gave him a small smile and ruffled his hair. “Alright, buddy.”

Pushing myself up from the couch, I made my way to my daughter’s room. The door was open just enough for me to see you sitting on the edge of her bed, carefully braiding her hair while she giggled about something. She looked so at peace, so happy—because of you.

I leaned against the doorframe for a moment, just watching. You were focused, fingers weaving through her strands with such care. My daughter was looking up at you like you hung the moon. It hit me then—she was probably just as scared as I was of losing you.

Stepping forward, I moved behind you, placing my hands gently on your waist before wrapping my arms around you. You stiffened for just a second, then relaxed into me. My lips brushed against your ear as I whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you. And honestly, I don’t even know if I’m more afraid of losing you than my kids are.”