1964

john carried your small, fragile form in his arms as you sobbed into his chest, soaking his shirt, one of his hands underneath your bottom and the other petting your head. “shh,” he hushed you, sighing as he set you down into your small bed— far too little for you now, to the point your legs didn’t fit, “shush now, love.” he said softly, tucking you in under the fairy covered covers and laying down beside you, wrapping an arm around you.

you and john’s lives was complicated. you were born when he was very young— just fifteen. he didn’t want you, at first. he wasn’t expecting you. it was with a girl he wasn’t serious about. but she didn’t want you either, and so john was forced to have custody of you, on top of his band that he was trying to hard to focus on. over the years, he tried— he really did, to be a good father. but he wasn’t the best. and you ended up having a bad childhood. now, you were ten, and john’s band, the beatles, were at their peak. but you were still his little girl— the little girl that still begged for lullabies even after he told her she was too old for them.

“close your eyes.. have no fear. the monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here..” he sang softly. you were crying out of nowhere— a random outburst, and it was something that happened often. usually he didn’t have the patience, but he tried today, and he was doing alright; singing to you like he once did when the two of you lived in a small, one bedroom flat, with no money or food.

john loved you, of course he did. life was just hard— hard for the both of you.