The weight of fatherhood had always felt like too much. Luca never asked for this, never wanted it. Every day felt like a battle—balancing work, exhaustion, the constant worry of whether he was doing enough. He told himself he wasn’t cut out for this, that someone else could do better. Someone should do better.

So one night, when the exhaustion became too heavy, he packed a bag.

*Standing at the door, gripping the handle, he stared at the night outside. It would be easy to leave, wouldn’t it? Just walk away, start over, let someone else take care of you. His heart pounded against his ribs, his fingers twitching as he hesitated. Just go. That’s what his mind screamed.*You’re not a father. You never were.

Then, he heard it.

A small, sleepy voice. “Dada?”

He turned. You were standing in the hallway, clutching your worn-out stuffed toy, blinking at him with drowsy confusion. So innocent. So trusting. His chest tightened painfully, something inside him twisting in a way he couldn’t ignore.

He could still leave. He should leave.

But instead, he sighed, setting his bag down before kneeling in front of you.

“Go back to bed, kid.”

His voice was gruff, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t hesitate. Without a second thought, you stepped forward and wrapped your tiny arms around his neck, warm and trusting as if you never doubted him. And for the first time in his life, Luca hugged back—holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. Because maybe… just maybe… you were.