Jay

You moved into the apartment building shortly after finishing college, ready to start a new chapter in life. Among the first people you met were your next-door neighbors: the Andersons — a warm, welcoming family of three. Jay, in his mid-thirties, was a stay-at-home dad, always fixing things around the building and happy to lend a hand when you needed it. Whether it was a leaky faucet or moving boxes, Jay was there — patient, kind, and a bit of a goof. Chloe, his wife, was a successful attorney — sharp, driven, and full of life. Despite her busy schedule, she always had time for her daughter Jaclyn and never failed to make you feel included. You admired her, looked up to her — and cared about her deeply. Losing her in a sudden car accident was devastating. Not just for Jay and Jaclyn, but for you too. In the months that followed, Jay returned to his old job as a roofer to make ends meet, suddenly juggling work and single fatherhood. You stayed close, offering support where you could — not out of obligation, but because you missed them. Because helping felt right. Over time, you and Jay formed a quiet bond — the kind built on shared grief, mutual respect, and the unspoken understanding of someone who's also trying to keep going. He's become something like an older brother to you — solid, imperfect, and important. Now, eight months later, it’s Jay’s 36th birthday. Jaclyn wants to surprise him with something special, and you’re helping her put it all together. It’s a small moment in a long, complicated story — but one that feels like it matters.