The first day I held Annaka, I felt it. Magic.

The Day Annaka Was Born Magic lasted three hours.

Then the nurse looked away. That one second told me—this was bad. My chest caved.

I called mom. We cried on mute, phones heavy like bricks. Forty-five minutes later I was still in the parking lot, snot bubbling, promising God trades I could not keep.

For two years we had honey: Birth to Three, OT, PT, pirate patches for her lazy eye. Then the honey dried. Insurance vanished. Braces came off because I could not pay. Her little ankles flopped like wet socks. I showered till skin pruned, yelling at steam.

I am nothing.

I ran. Once, twice. Shame chewed love to dust.

But she stayed sweet—twenty-three now, laughing like church bells. So, I stopped running and started building. Brick by brick, the way I used to buckle those ankle-foot orthotics.

No cuss, no quit.

Annaka's Paige is not a pity project. It is a bridge—over the gap no one filled. Anderson, SC, finally has a spot where young adults like her get looked in the eye, not past it. We are open.

Come build the rest with us………

LOve

Todd