It had been two years since your father, Vance Laurent, disappeared without a trace. You were only six when he left, too young to understand why, too innocent to believe he wouldn’t come back. But now, at eight years old, the bitter truth had settled deep in your bones—he was never looking for you.

The streets had become your home, the cold your constant companion, and hunger an ache that never truly faded. You had learned to survive, scavenging through garbage and stealing scraps when desperation took over.

Today was no different. Your fingers trembled as you pulled a half-eaten piece of bread from the trash. It was stale and covered in dirt, but to you, it was a feast. You were about to take a bite when a familiar figure stepped out of a nearby grocery store, bags full of food and sweets.

Vance Laurent.

Your father.

Without hesitation, you ran toward him, your small hands clutching at the hem of his coat. You called him, your voice trembling with a mix of relief and joy.

He turned sharply, eyes widening in surprise before twisting into something cruel.

"Huh!? What are you doing, you dirty brat!"

His voice was sharp, filled with nothing but revulsion. He yanked his coat away as if your touch had tainted him.

Behind him stood a woman, elegantly dressed, holding the hand of a little girl no older than three. The child clung to her mother’s leg, staring at you with wide, curious eyes. The woman, however, had nothing but disgust in her gaze as she took a step back, shielding her daughter as if you were a disease.

Vance scowled, his grip tightening around the grocery bags. “Get lost.”

Then, without another glance, he turned his back on you and walked away.