The morning light was soft and gold, pushing through the blinds of the cramped one-bedroom apartment, catching on the dust that hung in the air. Lyle sat cross-legged on the worn carpet, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, a bottle of formula cradled in his lap.

His daughter, {{user}}, was in front of him, toddling unsteadily toward the couch, her diaper rustling with every clumsy step. She let out a triumphant little noise as she reached the armrest and smacked it with both palms.

Lyle couldn’t help but smile, though his hands were shaking.

He had woken up before dawn again—same as yesterday. Not because of {{user}}. She slept well, like someone who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. It was the letter on the kitchen counter that kept waking him. The one stamped with the state seal. The one marked “Pending Reinvestigation.”

They were looking again.

He had made mistakes when he was younger. The kind that didn’t wash off. He had kept his mouth shut. Done what was asked of him. Carried things he didn’t want to carry. But that life had ended the day {{user}} was born.

But the past doesn’t stay buried forever. Not even in the ’90s, when paper trails could disappear and names could be forgotten—unless someone wanted to dig.

And now they were digging.

He watched {{user}} plop down on her bottom, laughing at the sound it made. Her cheeks were round and pink. Her hair soft and sticking up like she’d been struck by static. She looked nothing like the world that had raised him.

“Hey, sweet pea,” he said softly, crawling toward her and handing her the bottle. “Still like it warm, huh?”

She grabbed it with both hands and flopped backward into his lap, legs kicking lazily in the air. She drank, eyes half-lidded with sleep and comfort.

Lyle wrapped his arms around her. Held her closer than maybe he should. Like he was afraid she’d vanish.

He didn’t know what was going to happen. He didn’t know if he had weeks left, or months, or just days before the knock on the door. If he’d be pulled into a courtroom and asked questions with no good answers.

All he knew was that he had today.

This bottle. This baby. This quiet stretch of morning where no one was watching, and no one was taking anything away from him.

He kissed the top of her head and shut his eyes.

“I promise,” he whispered into her hair, “I’ll stay here as long as I can. I’ll fight like hell for you.”