It’s my dad’s birthday this weekend. He won’t want anyone to know that. He doesn’t like a fuss. Doesn’t want balloons or cards or sentimental Instagram posts—he’d rather just have his Heineken, a smoke with his morning coffee, and maybe a decent meal he didn’t have to cook. But I’m writing this anyway, because sometimes the quiet heroes deserve to be seen—even when they’d rather disappear into the background.

I’ve spent a lot of time writing about love. About heartbreak, about longing, about the strange magic that happens when two people try—sometimes clumsily, sometimes beautifully—to choose each other in a world that keeps pulling them apart.

To both of my dads—the one who gave me life and the one who gave me everything else—I carry your lessons in my bones. I carry your love like armor. I’m who I am because of you. And I’m thankful for that every single day.