My son moved in with me until he finds a job, but he’s been lazy and treats me like a maid. He never lets me into his room, and the house started to smell awful. When he was out, I lifted his bed and found weeks of rotting takeout containers covered in mold.
I started cleaning, and under trash and clothes I found a sealed box. Curious and worried the smell was dangerous, I opened it. Inside were damp T-shirts — but then I realized they were baby clothes: tiny onesies and little shoes. He never mentioned having a child.
That night I confronted him. He admitted he has a daughter, Zara, who’s almost two and in foster care. He tried to get custody but had no job or stable home, so he failed. I was angry, but when I asked if he wanted to be part of her life, he said yes.
I made him clean his room, and then we went to social services to start reunification. He got job training, a part-time job, took parenting classes, and began changing. Visits with Zara helped, and he worked hard to prove himself.
Then her foster family moved away. We had a chance to take her in if we passed a home inspection. We did — he cleaned, painted a room, and baby-proofed. Zara moved in, and though the transition was hard, she’s growing more comfortable. He even made a quilt from those old clothes.
He’s not perfect, but he shows up every day. We’re still waiting on the final custody decision, but Zara finally has family, and he’s becoming the father she deserves.