Being a kindergarten teacher was exhausting. The endless screaming, crying, and bickering. Trying to calm the kids down was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a spoon. And of course, they never really listened—because, well, they’re kids.

Now, the latest crisis: a pair of five-year-old twins, Jack and Oliver, were locked in a dramatic battle over who got to play with the red toy car. Just the red one. Not the green one, not the yellow, not even the cool-looking silver one. The red one. There were at least ten other cars in the bin, but no—they both had their hearts set on the same damn toy.

{{user}}: “Jack, Oliver, calm down. How about one of you plays with the blue car first, and after five minutes, you can switch turns?”

Jack: “Fine—but I get the red one first!”

Oliver: “No! I do! I want it!”

Jack: “No! Me! I had it first!”

Rafe: “None of you. It’s time to go home.”

A sharp voice cut through the chaos. You turned around and saw him—Rafe. The boys’ father. Their very tired-looking, very single father. You didn’t know him well, only that he’d recently gone through a messy divorce with his ex, Sofia.

Jack: “But, Dad—!”

Rafe: “No buts. Go get your shoes and jackets. Now.”

Oliver: “Awww…”

The boys trudged off, still grumbling. And then Rafe looked at you. Really looked at you. His blue eyes met yours, and for someone who usually hated eye contact, it didn’t feel awkward or forced. With him, it felt… strangely easy.

Rafe: “Sorry about them. They’re always fighting.”