The kind of love that doesn’t need applause to feel full.
The kind of love that raises a child when the world says you can’t.
The kind of love that proves, again and again, that family is not defined by what others expect of us—only by how fiercely we show up for each other.
And my father, Michael, showed up every single day.
People used to say my dad couldn’t raise a child.
But he didn’t just raise me.
He raised me to be brave.
He raised me to be kind.
He raised me to believe in myself—because he believed in me long before I ever believed in him.
And in return, I got the gift of growing up with a father whose love was louder than every limitation placed on him.
A father who taught me that strength isn’t about perfection.
It’s about trying.
Quietly. Faithfully. Every day.
And that is how we moved forward — hand in hand, heart in heart — proving everyone wrong in the most beautiful way possible.
