Cheryl, the social worker, sits at the kitchen table across from me, her fingernails clicking on her keyboard. She wears rings on all her fingers and bangles on both wrists that clink faintly each time she moves. She’s interviewing us for our second home study report. We’ve been at this for an hour, with no end in sight. Teddy has already refilled each of our coffee mugs twice. On his third attempt, Cheryl covered the top of her mug with her hand. “Any more java, and I’ll be cartwheeling out of here.”


    Now he sits next to me, his knee bouncing with nervous energy. He had his time in the hot seat yesterday. She interviewed him for over three hours, asking a range of questions about his early life, his upbringing, his current rtionship with his family. She quizzed him in detail on his connections to his nieces and nephews, his experiences as a parental figure.


    They talked of Karolina, of what she means to him. I listened with pride as he spouted off everything from her favorite food to her second-favorite ballet position. He then provided Cheryl with a rank order of Karro’s preferred stuffed animals, which included all their names and magical abilities.


    So far, she’s asked me simr questions. I’ve spoken of my young life in Sweden, my rtionship with Petra, my early hockey career.


    “From what we’ve found, your sister made no will,” she goes on. “In the event of her passing, did Petra want you to have custody of Karolina? Do you believe that was her wish?”


    “Without question,” I reply.


    “Why?”


    I consider for a moment, unraveling the threads of my grief from the facts of the case as best I can. Next to me, Teddy squeezes my hand in encouragement. “I loved my sister with all that I am. She was the older sibling, but she relied on me.”


    “How so?”


    “She never had the patience for organization. And she loathed anything so mundane as the routine of paying bills or nning ahead. Even before her death, I was already caring for them both.”


    “In what ways?”


    “I paid for her apartment, her car, Karolina’s school. I made sure they wanted for nothing. As our parents’ health has declined, I’ve cared for them too. Petra knew that if anything happened to her, I would continue to care for Karolina. Since her death, all that has changed is geography. Now, Karolina lives in the home with me.”


    “And how are you liking the change?”


    I swallow a sip of my coffee. “Pardon?”


    “To go from being her uncle, paying the bills, to bing her live-in guardian is a huge step for you both. I’m asking how you’ve weathered the change. Have there been disruptions to your life, your patterns of behavior?”


    “Every pattern of my life has beenpletely disrupted. But it doesn’t follow that such disruptions are unwee. And they’re not all her fault,” I add, ncing at Teddy.


    “Can you give me an example of how a pattern has changed and how you’ve reacted?”


    I consider for a moment, setting my coffee aside. “My nighttime routine has certainly changed.”


    “Can you exin?”


    I smile, leaning back in my chair. “Before Teddy and Karolina came to live with me, I lived alone. My nights not traveling or ying hockey were spent quietly in my apartment. I may have listened to a podcast while I exercised on my stationary bike. After which, I stretched and showered. Then I brushed my teeth, and it was lights out by ten o’clock.”


    “And now?”


    I nce to Teddy again and he chuckles. “Just tell her, babe.”


    I turn back to Cheryl. “Now, my nights home are full of baking, bedazzling, and bath time, in that order. And Karolina and Teddy each have a nightly hair- and skincare regimen that would rival a Hollywood starlet.”


    Cherylughs. “And do you participate?”


    “Oh, yes. I’ve been enrolled in the Teddy O’Connor School for Uncles Who Can’t Do Hair.”


    Sheughs again. “My, that sounds serious.”


    “It’s grueling,” I reply. “Compared with learning to braid hair,peting in thest Winter Olympics was a breeze.”


    “Would you consider these new routines an unwee change to your daily life? Do you ever resent them?”


    I stare down at the table, my mind filling with the sounds of Teddy’s and Karro’sughter and singing, echoing around my bathroom. Teddy standing at the sink, spritzing his locs. Karro sitting in the shower with Barbies on herp, her casted arm and leg carefully wrapped to keep out the water. “No. The chaos they bring to each day is now more precious to me than any cheering crowd, any professional de.”


    Cheryl smiles, her eyes going misty. “That’s a lovely thought, Henrik.”


    “It’s the truth. Before Teddy and Karolina, I lived to work. My apartment was a ce where I marked time, waiting to go back on the ice.”


    “And now?”


    “Now, I work to live. I’m one of thest in and first out. I do my job, and I do it well. And I still love hockey, don’t get me wrong. But my life is so much more now.” I look to Teddy, squeezing his hand. “I could never resent them. And I’ll never take them for granted.”


    Teddy’s smile is dazzling as he looks at me, tears in his eyes. His love shines out like a beacon.


    Across the table, Cheryl furiously types on her tablet. “Would you consider yourself a violent person, Henrik?”


    I go still, my cup of coffee halfway to my lips. “What?”


    Cheryl looks up over her tablet. Her tortoise shell–framed reading sses have slipped to the tip of her nose. “There was recently a report made about an incident that happened at Riptide’s Bar and Grill. You were involved in an altercation?”


    “No one pressed charges,” Teddy is quick to say. “It was all a big misunderstanding.”


    I grimace, setting my coffee down.


    Cheryl looks to me. “You became violent with a man who was being violent with Teddy. Is that correct?”


    Teddy sucks in a breath, his bouncing knee freezing to stone.


    “That’s correct,” I reply. “Teddy was cornereding out of the bathroom by another hockey yer who was trying to press sexual advances on him. Teddy rebuffed the man, and the man got agitated. He pushed Teddy against the wall and called him a whore and a tease … among other things.”


    “And you attacked him?”


    “I stopped him from further attacking Teddy,” I correct.


    “Why not call for help? Surely, the restaurant manager could have intervened. Or you could have called the police.”


    I huff, shaking my head. “You know nothing about the situation.”


    Teddy winces, giving me a pained look. But I won’t feign politeness. Not about this. It’s too important.


    “What don’t I know?” she replies. Her tone is open, nonjudgmental. She’s genuinely seeking my answer.


    I take a deep breath, and let it out. “You’re assuming there was time for me to go through the motions of seeking out a higher authority, like a manager or the police. But have you ever heard your partner cry out in fear, Cheryl?”


    “No,” she murmurs. “I haven’t.”


    “Then you don’t know what you would have done in my position.”


    She nods, conceding the point.


    “And my partner is a ck man, Cheryl. Add to that, he’s gay. Do you really think it would have been safer for me to sit back and call in the support of a police officer while my ck gay husband was being attacked by a white man? A man with a multimillion-dor contract on the line and the might of an NHL franchise at his back? You really think that would have deescted the situation?”


    “Probably not,” she replies, eyes on her tablet.


    “I knew I could handle it,” I go on. “I’ve been handling men like Lamont all my life. There’s violence inherent to a sport like hockey, it’s true. Sometimes, the quickest way to solve a problem on or off the ice is just to tackle the man and wail on him for thirty seconds. I’ve found it’s a useful tool for behavior modification. But we’re all grown men, usually wearing protective equipment. And I promise you, he gave as good as he got.”


    I lean forward, elbow on the table. “But if you’re questioning whether I know where the line is, if you’re implying I may turn the violence of my sport onto my own family? I’ll have to politely tell you to go fuck yourself.”


    She blinks, leaning away.


    Next to me, Teddy groans. “Henrik …”


    “I love my niece,” I say over him, shrugging his hand off my shoulder. “I love her more than my own life. I would never raise a hand to her in anger. Not ever. Just as I would die before I’d raise a hand in anger at Teddy. They are my reasons for breathing. I will protect them from any harm. But I will never be the harm. Karolina is safe with me. So is Teddy. In that moment in the bar, tackling that brute to the ground with my own two hands was the most effective way to keep my Teddy safe. And before you ask, yes, I would do it again.”


    Smiling weakly, Teddy ces his hand on mine on the table and gives it a squeeze.


    “Understood,” Cheryl replies, typing down a few notes on her tablet.


    I nce to Teddy, and he gives me a nod of reassurance. I squeeze his hand back, and we wait. After a few tense moments, Cheryl looks up over her tablet. “Tell me about how you two first met.”


    Teddy is all smiles as he stretches back in his chair. “Do you want to start, or should I?”


    I pick up my mug of coffee, taking a sip of the lukewarm brew. “I’ll start.”


    Cheryl looks to me, her fingers poised over her keyboard, ready to type.


    “The first thing you need to know about Teddy is that he has expensive and terrible taste in coffee.”