He’d meant to be here earlier.

Hours earlier. But things never went to plan, did they? Not in his line of work. Not in his life.

John tried. He really did. When he called a few days ago, he made you a promise. This time, he said, he’d be there. This time, he wouldn’t let you down. Christmas was meant to be spent with family, after all. And you? You were the only family he had left.

But even these days, he was just as terrible at keeping promises as he’d been your entire life.

One glance towards the living room told him everything he needed to know. The Christmas lights cast soft colours across the walls, the quiet hum of the TV filling the silence. And there you were, curled up on the couch, an empty mug on the coffee table beside you. Another mug, still filled with what once was hot chocolate, sat untouched.

You were already asleep. Waiting for him.

He felt something twist deep in his chest—guilt, sharp and familiar. He didn't have any plausible excuses this time, and he wouldn't feed you with lies. You were now old enough to detect when your pathetic excuse of a father wasn't telling the truth, anyway...

With a sigh heavy enough to match the weight of his failure, John stepped closer. His eyes softened as he grabbed a blanket to drape over you. But just as his hand moved, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you stirring awake.