Jack said, pulling Mr. Floppy from under the bed.

I held the bunny close, imagining Sophie’s joy. “Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Tell me everything,” Jack said, sitting on the edge of Sophie’s bed.

“What exactly did my brother say to you?”

I hesitated but told him everything: the call, the threats, the hostel. He listened quietly, his jaw tightening with every word.

When I finished, he stood and pulled out his phone. “This isn’t right,” he said.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“Fixing this,” he said, dialing.

The conversation that followed was heated, though I could only hear his side.

“You kicked a single mom and her kids out of their home?

For me?” Jack’s voice was sharp. “No, you’re not getting away with this. Fix it now, or I will.”

He hung up and turned to me.

“Pack your things at the hostel. You’re coming back tonight.”

I blinked, not sure I’d heard him right. “What about you?”

“I’ll find somewhere else to stay,” he said firmly.

“I can’t stay here after what my brother pulled. And he’ll cover your rent for the next six months.”

That evening, Jack helped us move back in. Sophie lit up when she saw Mr.

Floppy, her little arms clutching the bunny like a treasure.

“Thank you,” I told Jack as we unpacked. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I couldn’t let you stay there another night,” he said simply.

Over the next few weeks, Jack kept showing up. He fixed the leaky faucet in the kitchen.

One night, he brought over groceries.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, feeling overwhelmed.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I like helping.”

The girls adored him. Lily asked for his advice on her science project.

Emma roped him into board games. Even Sophie warmed up to him, offering Mr. Floppy a “hug” for Jack to join their tea party.

I started to see more of the man behind the kind gestures.

He was funny, patient, and genuinely cared about my kids. Eventually, our dinners together blossomed into a romance.

One evening several months later, as we sat on the porch after the girls had gone to bed, Jack spoke quietly.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, looking out into the yard.

“About what?”

“I don’t want you and the girls to ever feel like this again. No one should be scared of losing their home overnight.”

His words hung in the air.

“I want to help you find something permanent,” he continued.

“Will you marry me?”

I was stunned. “Jack… I don’t know what to say. Yes!”

A month later, we moved into a beautiful little house Jack found for us.

Lily had her own room. Emma painted hers pink. Sophie ran to hers, holding Mr.

Floppy like a shield.

As I tucked Sophie in that night, she whispered, “Mama, I love our new home.”

“So do I, baby,” I said, kissing her forehead.

Jack stayed for dinner that night, helping me set the table. As the girls chattered, I looked at him and knew: he wasn’t just our hero. He was family.

Source: amomama