I learned how to cook because eating out wasn’t an option. I learned how to braid hair by practicing on a doll at the kitchen table, because Ainsley wanted pigtails for first grade—and there was no way I was going to let her down.
I packed her lunches. I showed up to every school play. I sat through every parent-teacher conference.
I wasn’t a perfect father.
But I was always there.
And I think that mattered.
Ainsley grew up kind. Funny. Quietly determined in a way I never really took credit for—because, truthfully, I still don’t know where she got it.
