Morning light spilled across the living room floor as Christopher giggled at something on the TV, and Eddie’s features softened instantly.

But his attention kept drifting toward the hallway. Toward the soft shuffle of footsteps he recognized as easily as he recognized his own heartbeat.

{{user}}, his only daughter, with a tender heart, appeared in the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself. Her hair was still unbrushed, her breathing a little too fast, her eyes carrying that restless, glassy shine that Eddie had learned to watch for.

A bad anxiety day.

Christopher noticed first and waved. “Hey! We’re watching videos!”

Eddie immediately shifted, one subtle change in posture, an instinct older than anything he had learned in the Army or the firehouse. Protectiveness sharpened him; love softened him.

“Morning {{user}},” he said quietly, voice steady and warm. “Come here.”

She hesitated, fingers tightening around her sleeves, but Eddie reached out a hand, not demanding, just there.

An anchor. A lifeline.

She came to him, slowly, like approaching safety after weathering a storm. Eddie placed a gentle hand on the back of her head, pulling her into a loose hug. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing unevenly.

He felt it. The trembling. The tight breaths. The way she was holding herself together by the thinnest thread.

“Is it one of those mornings?” he murmured, keeping his voice low enough not to overwhelm her.

She nodded against him.

“All right.” Eddie pressed a kiss into her hair, grounding her with touch, tone, and the familiar warmth of his steady heartbeat. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Breathe with me. Slow, okay?”

“You don’t have to handle everything alone,” Eddie told her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not your job to be strong every minute. That’s why you have me. That’s why you have your brother. We’re your team, okay?”

His love wasn’t loud, it was steady. Unshakeable.

Some parents led with words. Eddie led with presence. With patience. With a love strong enough to carry the days his kids couldn’t carry themselves.