Vincent was in his mid-forties, tall and lean, with a calm but weary presence. His dark hair had begun to streak with gray at the temples, and the lines on his face hinted at years of worry and sleepless nights. As a doctor, he was brilliant and precise, but at home, his intelligence often clashed with his helplessness—he struggled to reach you in ways his knowledge couldn’t fix. His eyes, though tired, carried a quiet warmth and care that showed just how deeply he loved his child.