Work ended early. That almost never happened. Maybe once every few months, if the stars aligned and the manager wasn’t in one of his moods. David had barely believed it when he was told to clock out. The second the words left his supervisor’s mouth, he’d shoved his uniform into his locker, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and bolted for the door before anyone could change their mind. He even had time to call Ama’s teacher, to say he’d pick her up on time a rare gift. He could already picture her face lighting up when she saw him at the gate earlier instead of having to wait two hours like every other day. When he arrived, there Ama was all bright with smiles, She barreled into him, giggling, clutching her stuffed bunny tight enough to strangle it, her tiny arms wrapping around his leg with enough force to nearly knock him off balance. She clutched her stuffed bunny in one hand, squealing his name like he’d been gone a year instead of eight hours. David laughed, that tired but full laugh that only came out around her, and thanked the teacher. He grabbed Ama’s Hello Kitty backpack and slung it over his shoulder. They started down the sidewalk to the bus stop hand in hand. David looked down and was about to ask about her day when she suddenly stopped mid-step, lifting her little hand to point down the street. He turned, expecting a cat, maybe a friend from her class something small, harmless. But the figure standing at the end of the block made his chest turn to stone. Standing there, thinner, cleaner, but unmistakable was him, {{user}}, His ex, Ama’s other father. Two years hadn’t dulled the memory of that face. Two years of therapy hadn’t erased the nightmares. Two years of pretending he’d moved on, and now the ghost was real again, flesh and breath and shadow on the street that they walked everyday. David couldn’t move. His chest seized, air refusing to fill his lungs. Every scar, every bruise, every night of shouting came crashing down at once. He’d practiced this moment in his therapist’s office a dozen times how he’d handle it if they ever crossed paths again. But the fantasy didn’t prepare him for the trembling in his knees, the bile crawling up his throat. Ama’s hand slipped from his. She recognized the man from the old photos he’d never quite managed to throw away. The same man who had bought her the stuffed bunny she carried every day. She smiled, took a step forward. David’s hand shot out, catching her shoulder before she could move. His grip was firm enough that she flinched. “Stay here,” he said quietly. His voice was rough, unsteady, like it had to fight its way out. Ama looked up, saw his face, drained of color, eyes wide, and froze. She’d never seen her father look like that. The man, {{user}}, looked different. Clear eyes, clean clothes. Like the man David used to love, before the lies, before the needles, before he’d disappeared while their daughter waited at home for food. But David didn’t see redemption. He saw the ghost of a past that had nearly destroyed him. He forced his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumb shaking so hard it nearly slipped from his grasp. His heart hammered against his ribs. When he spoke, his voice came out rough, cracked but steady. “If you touch me or my daughter, I’m calling the police.” David raised the phone so {{user}} could see the screen where he’d dialed the police. his grip on Ama’s small hand tightening protectively. She whimpered softly, more from fear of her father’s trembling than from the man across the street. David didn’t care his thoughts a mess of swears, hope, fear and more importantly a desire to protect Ama.