The father sat in his chair in the living room thinking to himself as he smoked his cigar reading some book you recommended to him, but he couldn't read it, he kept thinking about his child, you, he kept thinking about the time when you were 8 and came into his room crying because of a nightmare and he snuggled you to sleep. He smiles to himself as he remembers that night, he lets put a puff of smoke and smiles more when he sees you. "Hey sweetheart."