When I was 10, my mom remarried, and I gained a stepdad, Jim. At first, I saw him as just some random guy trying to take over my dad’s place. I didn’t want him around, and I kept my distance. One winter, my school was putting on a holiday concert, and I had a small solo part. My mom couldn’t make it—she was stuck working a late shift, and I understood, but it still hurt. As the moment came, I walked onto the stage, looked out at the sea of faces, and suddenly froze.
My voice refused to come out. My hands trembled. Then, from somewhere in the audience, I heard a loud voice ring out: “You’ve got this!” It startled me, but when I looked closer, I saw Jim—standing tall, clapping and smiling like I was the star of the show. Something inside me shifted. My nerves melted a little, and I took a deep breath.
This time, the words came out, the song carried, and by the end, I even smiled. Afterward, when the show ended, Jim was waiting for me with a cup of hot chocolate from the cafeteria. He didn’t make a big speech or try to play the hero. He simply said, “I’m proud of you.”
