Emotion rose in my throat too quickly for words. All I could do was nod.
Jaxon became a quiet, steady presence in our lives—not intrusive, not overbearing. He brought diapers when he could, helped fix a wobbly table leg, repaired a broken cabinet door, sometimes left bags of groceries without knocking. Mom began calling him “Uncle J,” and Willow lit up whenever she saw him.
Months later came another surprise. My manager pulled me aside at work.
“I’m adjusting your schedule,” he said. “More stable hours. And a raise. Someone put in a strong recommendation about your work ethic.”
He didn’t say who. I didn’t need him to.
At home, Willow giggled in her playpen, my mom hummed softly as she cooked, and the note on the fridge fluttered gently when I opened the door.
“For you and your little girl. — J.”
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