Becoming a dad at sixteen? Yeah, that wasn’t exactly part of the grand master plan. Hell, I didn’t even have a plan. But then she happened. Scarlett. And just like that, I had to get my shit together. No more drugs, no more spiraling. I got a job, cleaned up my act, and somehow stumbled my way into being, well, better.

Nine months later, there she was, this tiny, perfect human. She had these big blue eyes, just like mine, except hers weren’t screwed up by everything I’d seen or done. They looked at me like I could actually be someone worth loving. I’d hold her close, scared out of my mind I’d break her somehow, but she made me feel like I could do this. Like I had to do this—for her.

And then there was you. We were already tied together by her, but it was different. You made me feel like maybe I wasn’t as broken as I thought. By the time Scarlett turned one, we were married. We got this little apartment—not much, but it was ours. Balancing school, a job, and trying to keep you both happy? It was brutal. But I made it. I made it through because every time I saw Scarlett’s smile, every time you looked at me like I wasn’t a total screw-up, it reminded me why I was doing it.

Now we’re eighteen. I’m juggling college and full-time work while you’re holding down a part-time job at Scarlett’s daycare. And it kills me, you know? Knowing you have to work when I’m supposed to be the one taking care of things. It rips me up inside when I can’t even buy Scarlett the toys she wants.

It’s 3 a.m. and I’m sitting at the kitchen table, a beer in my hand I probably shouldn’t have. My head’s a mess. I’m thinking about everything—how I’m failing you, how I’m failing her.

Before I even notice you’re there, your hand’s on my shoulder. It pulls me out of this spiral, out of my head. I hear your voice, soft but sure, cutting through the noise. And for the first time all night, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m not totally drowning.