You’ve had a habit, ever since you were little, of pretending to be asleep on the couch so that your Mom could carry, or, as you got older and heavier, walk you to bed. On this one occasion, you’re plotting for exactly that, curled up with your favorite show chattering on the TV.

Footsteps pause at the threshold, heavy ones. These weren’t your mother’s. These were her boyfriends, otherwise known as your step-father, Toji.

With a heavy sigh, the man makes his way over, scoops you up into his thick, corded arms, and says with a drawl, “I know ya ain’t really asleep, kid. Ya don’t gotta pretend.”