“You did great,” I murmur. “I’m proud of you.”

He swallows hard, cheeks glowing, and that little spark in his eyes makes my chest ache. The quiet tension lingers between us, charged and unspoken, a promise of what’s possible when he trusts me.

Oren runs toward the cluster of squealing Littles already lining up for the inflatable waterslide, sunlight catching on the wet plastic as if the thing were a jewel set in grass. Soon he’s tumbling down with his friends, shrieks of laughter echoing through the woods, drenched with water balloons and the easy chaos of belonging.

I head in the other direction, toward the workshop tent markedDaddy Tools: Guidance & Growth.It’s part lecture, part roundtable—caregivers sharing tricks for patience, for praise, for being the grounding presence Littles crave. I sit among men in worn jeans and leather cuffs, and although I wear a suit every day, I don’t feel out of place.

The margins of the notebook quickly fill with scribbled notes, circling words likeconsistencyandaftercare.I can’thelp thinking about Oren every time—his shy smiles, his messy bravery, the way his voice cracked when he’d said thanks.

And as the speaker asks us to reflect on what brought us here, my answer is crystal clear.

I came for him.