The daycare hallway smelled like crayons, baby wipes, and apple juice — a strangely comforting mix to name. She was 17, rushing in after her last class at the community high school, backpack slung over one shoulder, her curly hair in a messy bun. She signed her name on the clipboard at the front desk, then walked toward the toddler room where her daughter, Tina, was already waiting by the door, holding a plastic dinosaur.

"Hi, baby," she whispered, scooping her into her arms. Her little hands wrapped around her neck, and for a second, the world felt okay.

As she turned to leave, a voice stopped her.

"That’s your little girl?"

name looked up. A tall guy stood in the hallway, holding a tiny pink backpack and a bottle. He was maybe 19, with soft brown eyes and a calm energy that didn’t feel like most guys she knew.

“Yeah,” she said cautiously. “Tina.”

“I’m here for my niece,” he said quickly, noticing her guard. “My sister works late, so I do pickups.”

A tiny girl with sparkly sneakers ran up to him and grabbed his leg. He lifted her up with ease.

“She loves Tina,” he added with a grin. “Always talks about her on the way home.”

nameglanced down at her daughter, who was now babbling about horses. “Well, She talks about a girl named ‘Maya,’ so I guess that makes sense.”

He smiled. “Small world. I’m Alex.”

“name.”

There was a pause — not awkward, just long enough to make her notice the way he looked at her like she was more than a tired girl with a baby.

“You here most days?” he asked as they walked toward the door.

“Every day.”

“Maybe I’ll time my pickups better,” he said with a smirk.

name didn’t answer, but when she looked back at him before crossing the parking lot, she smiled.