I can feel her insecurity suffocating her aspirations, but as I gently lift her chin, meeting her eyes with an encouraging smile. “Ari, let’s fix that last part. You’re simply gonna be the greatest soccer player in the world because you’re the best. End of story.”

She smiles a bright, toothy grin that could outshine the sun and nods, her confidence reigniting like a spark catching fire. “But first, we gotta convince Daddy to let me play! He thinks I’m gonna get hurt, but I can play against anyone. He won’t even let us leave the house until he feels comfortable enough to trust the people in town.”

Before I can respond, Syd dramatically throws her hands in the air, her face scrunched in exaggerated frustration. “We’re gonna be like Rapunzel for the rest of our lives!” she exclaims, flopping onto the rug like the weight of the world has crushed her. “How will I ever be a world-famous dancer?” She crosses her arms, letting out an overly dramatic huff for good measure.

Ari rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you won’t since Daddy thinks just because there were a few bullies at my last school that everyone’s evil. He says only great people deserve to be in our presence.”

I bite back a laugh, amused by their dramatics. Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside them, I reach out to squeeze their hands gently. “And you know what? He’s right. Great people do deserve to be in your presence. Which is why I’m gonna make sure you meet all the great people in this town, especially kids your age.” I glance between their hopeful faces, my voice soft but firm. “I’ll talk to your father. I may not get him to say yes overnight, but I’ll warm him up to the idea of letting you two get out and make new friends. I promise the kids around town are as sweet, funny, and kind-hearted as the both of you.”

Ari’s eyes light up with a spark of hope, and Syd’s pout softens into a grin as we continue to work through until the afternoon.

At lunchtime, the staff rolls in with a second extravagantly prepped meal of the day—an array of gourmet sandwiches, colorful fruit platters, and chocolate-dipped marshmallows nestled perfectly on a tray for the girls’ dessert.

“Wow,” I breathe, my eyes widening as the aroma fills the air, rich with hints of freshly baked bread, ripe berries, and the faint sweetness of melted chocolate. My stomach growls in anticipation. “When did this man find the time to prepare all this?” I ask Ms. Tina, still marveling at the spread. Then, half-joking, I add, “Why can’t we just eat the leftovers from this morning? Seems like a waste.”