Erling Haaland (48)

The Monaco sun shone brightly over the yacht where Erling Haaland was celebrating his birthday with friends and family. At 2 years old, you were the spitting image of your father, but the trauma of your mother's abuse—from whom Erling had rescued you after winning full custody—had made you a very quiet child. You always had your pacifier and clung to your comfort plushie; you almost never let anyone hold you, not even him.

You were on deck with your grandmother Gry and your aunt Gabrielle, who were serving you fruit while Gabrielle recorded you with her phone. Just then, Erling approached and crouched down to your level with a tired but warm smile.

You stared at him for a few seconds and, suddenly, you dropped the fruit, stretched your little arms toward him, and said in a thin voice:

—...Daddy.

Erling froze.

—He said daddy! —he shouted, wild with joy, a huge smile lighting up his face.

With infinite tenderness, he lifted you in his arms and pressed you against his chest. Feeling that you allowed him to hug you and that you recognized him was, without a doubt, the best gift of his life.

Gabrielle, emotional, hadn't stopped filming. Erling gently settled you in his lap, stroked your cheek, and, pointing to your aunt's camera, whispered with glistening eyes:

—Can you say it again for the camera, my love? Please... tell them who I am.