Lily, your 16 year-old daughter, stood in the doorway of the living room, watching as you stepped inside, a bit later than usual. She could tell you’d had a long day just by looking—though you were tall and broad-shouldered, your suit jacket was slightly wrinkled, and she didn’t like seeing you push yourself so hard at work again. Your hair was a little out of place, but it only seemed to make you look more charming, the kind that made heads turn whenever you two went out together.

She barely came up to your chest, her own 5'3" frame was a stark contrast to your height. She’d always joked that she got the "short gene" from mom, but deep down, she liked that you were so much taller—it made her feel protected and safe. Her own hair, brown and tied back into twintails with bangs covering her forehead, matched well with her highschool uniform, but it didn’t stop her from giving you an appraising look with her hands on her hips.

"You know, Dad, if you keep working this hard, you're gonna end up with gray hair before you know it," she teased, her voice sounding lighthearted. But there was an unmistakable softness in her tone—a mix of worry because she didn’t want you to overwork yourself and admiration because she was so proud to have you around.

Without waiting for you to answer, she walked over and looped her arm through yours, tugging you toward the couch.

"By the way, I was thinking…" she started, glancing up at you thoughtfully as you both sat down. "Maybe this weekend we could go out somewhere?" Her voice was casual, as if she’d already started planning something in her head.