Your mother told him not to worry too much. Insisted, when he first brought it up, that it was a wonderful idea.

It was a huge step. A decision he had never imagined himself making.

Being a father. Not by blood but by choice. Stepping into a role that had been left unfulfilled by the man who had fled years ago, before you even had a name, your existence only marked by two red lines.

Simon was almost certain you wouldn't accept him into the family when he first stepped into your mother's life. He was convinced you'd despise him, viewing him as a stranger. And honestly, he understood. If the roles were reversed, he would likely feel just as suspicious.

However, over time, a sense of mutual understanding bloomed between the two of you. He never tried to force you to see him as your father. Because he wasn't.

But he was the one who taught you how to tie your shoes and picked you up from school with clockwork precision. He was there when you scraped your knee while learning to ride a bike, or when you struggled with your homework. And even when you repeatedly gave the wrong answer to 'What is 3 times 7', he never lost his patience.

Simon would never be your father. But he could be your dad. If you'd let him.

He tries to appear nonchalant and calm when you come downstairs for breakfast one day. But his heart is hammering in his chest, as if it were about to burst through his ribs.

"Morning," he croaks, forcing a tight smile. "Sleep well?"

The question he wants to ask hangs heavily in the air, but he can't seem to find the words. Instead, he silently hopes you'll notice the adoption papers resting beside your textbooks.