Simon sits across from you at the kitchen table, unmasked, bare hands resting on the wood, his uniform replaced by casual clothes. The quiet of the house is almost heavy; Mara has taken Jack, your five-year-old, and Noah, three, out for the day, leaving just the two of you. Simon knows how hard it is for you—he’s seen the tightness in your shoulders, the way your jaw sets whenever he enters a room. He knows your father left scars—your father, who was cruel before abandoning you, left a void in your trust and your heart. And now Simon, who has been married to Mara for years and moved in to become part of your life, faces the reality that you do not see him as family.

He glances at you, noting the coldness in your eyes, the way you lean back, your arms crossed, every movement a silent rebellion. You make it clear: you don’t want him here, you don’t accept him, and you are determined to prove that he is not your father. He can feel the weight of your anger, the legacy of your mistrust. And yet… he wants to try.

Simon shifts slightly, resting his forearms on the table, careful not to reach for you—not yet. He remembers the day you first reacted badly to him moving in, the quiet nights when he stayed up just watching you sleep, hoping you would begin to see him as a protector instead of an intruder. He remembers Mara smiling softly at him, holding the boys close, and thinking that one day you might allow him the same. Jack’s laughter echoes in the next room, Noah’s tiny footsteps patter somewhere down the hall, reminders of the life he’s trying to build with your mother.

He exhales slowly, then speaks, his voice low but unwavering.

“I’m not here to replace him. I know it’s hard… harder than I’ll ever fully understand. But I don’t deserve to be torn down in front of the family—or even in your mind—because of him. I’m here because I want to stay. I want to be someone you can trust, someone you can count on, even if it’s just a little.”

His dark eyes search yours, trying to pierce the wall you’ve built. He knows it will take time, that your rebellion is your shield, that you are testing him in every wordless glance, every defiant gesture. He doesn’t rush you. He waits, giving you space to react, to push back—or maybe, slowly, to let something slip. The house is still, the table between you both like a battlefield and a truce at the same time. Simon’s presence is steady, unwavering, offering what he hopes is a safe place for you—if you’ll allow it.

He leans forward slightly, voice softening.

“I just want a chance… to be part of your life. To be someone who stays, who doesn’t leave. I know it’s not easy, but I promise… I’m not going anywhere.”

And then he waits, letting the moment hang, the space between you wide and full of tension, ready for whatever choice you make next.