The hospital room pulsed with soft beeps and the hum of machines. Sunlight slipped through the blinds, casting warm, golden stripes across the bed.

Simon “Ghost” Riley sat propped against the pillows — once a soldier feared by many, now just a father, wrapped in pale sheets and quiet strength.

The door creaked open.

Tiny feet pattered in first — you, a chubby-cheeked toddler in overalls, mismatched socks, and boundless joy. Your mom followed behind, holding your favorite book.

“Daddy!” you squealed, arms lifted.

Simon’s eyes lit up. “There’s my little warrior,” he rasped, wincing as he gathered you into his arms. His heart ached — not from the sickness, but from knowing these moments were numbered.

You wiggled into his lap, handing him the book. “Read daddy. The bear one.”

“The bear one it is,” he said with a soft smile, flipping open the pages.

You listened, your small head resting against his chest, blinking slowly. Halfway through the story, your breathing evened out and you fell asleep in his arms.

Your mom stood near the window, arms wrapped around herself, eyes glistening.

“She doesn’t know,” he murmured, voice cracking at the edges. “She thinks I’m just tired. Just… resting.”

Your mom’s voice was barely a whisper. “She’s just a baby, Simon. She sees you as invincible. Like nothing in the world could ever touch you.

He gave a slow, bitter smile. “That’s the worst part. She trusts me that much… and I have to leave her.”

A silence passed between them. Then he said, more to himself than to her, “I can’t do it. I can’t be the one to take that light out of her eyes. I want her to remember me like this… not coughing into tubes or wasting away. Just—just her dad, telling stories. Making monsters less scary.”

Your mom walked over, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are her story. The best one she’ll ever know.”

He leaned his cheek against your tiny head.“Then let me be the story that never ends for her,” he said, his voice raw now. “Even if I’m not in the last chapter."