Chapter 1: The Cracked Photo

The most important photo in our house always hung above the couch, slightly crooked, with a crack running through the corner of the glass from the day I accidentally hit it with a foam soccer ball when I was eight.

Dad had stared at the damage for a long moment before shrugging and saying, “Well… I survived that day. I can survive this.”

The picture itself captured a terrified-looking teenage boy standing on a football field in a crooked graduation cap, clutching a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. Me.

I used to tease him about it all the time.

“Seriously,” I once laughed, pointing at the photo. “You look like I would’ve exploded if I sneezed.”

Dad snorted softly. “I would not have dropped you. I was just nervous. I thought I might break you.” Then he gave the familiar shrug he used whenever emotions got too close. “But apparently I did okay.”

Okay wasn’t even close.

He did everything. Continue Reading ⬇️