It isn’t a pristine artifact. It’s lived-in. But every time I walk past it—picking up discarded shoes, carrying groceries—I remember the exact moment the chapel fell silent.

I remember a six-year-old girl in silver shoes asking for something no child should ever have to petition for: a safe place to belong.

And every day, in a million quiet ways, I make sure my life is the answer she was looking for.

Yes.

Yes, you can call me Dad.

Yes, this is your forever home.

Yes, I choose you. Both of you. Every time.

THE END.