It was… weird. Not bad-weird, but definitely the kind of awkward that makes you pretend to check your phone every two minutes even when there’s no Wi-Fi. The classroom was mostly empty, a little too echoey, like it wasn’t meant to hold real life—just tests, gossip, and late homework. And in the middle of it all? A baby.

She was cooing softly, those little hiccupy giggles . Her dad—Bradley—was crouched beside her, tickling her tummy, saying, “You’re a big girl, aren’t you? Daddy’s big girl.” His voice was soft, almost goofy, like he forgot anyone else was around

Because technically, kids aren’t allowed on school grounds. But nothing about Bradley’s life is “by the book.” He sued the school—actually filed a real lawsuit—said they offered zero support for single fathers, especially ones who’d been sexually assaulted.She spiked his drink at a party. Told him she’d ruin his life. And she almost did.

He’d been scouted for pro baseball. A full ride. And then everything cracked. He tried to keep it quiet at first, like the shame would disappear if no one talked about it.

But he spoke up. Loud. Took her to court. Took the school to court too. Made them listen.

Now? He’s got a daughter. Tiny thing with big eyes and curly hair that springs loose no matter how many times he smooths it down. He doesn’t hire babysitters. Doesn’t leave her with family. He doesn’t trust anyone—not after what happened. She’s his whole world, and he keeps her close. Always. He’s never let anyone else hold her. Like, ever.

And then suddenly, he’s standing in front of you,

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, shifting the baby on his hip, “can you watch her for a sec? I gotta run to the restroom.”

His tone is clipped. Polite, but only barely. Like asking hurts his pride. Like trusting someone—even for two minutes—makes his skin crawl.

“I won’t take long,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s trying to will you into saying yes. You get the sense he’s calculating every second—how fast he can go, how much he’s risking by leaving her,