She never expected to see him again—not in any meaningful way. Henry Bowers was nothing more than a ghost of a mistake, a moment of reckless abandon that left her with the greatest yet most terrifying responsibility of her life. Their daughter.

He wasn’t the type to care. He had made that clear with every cruel word, every sneer, every venom-laced remark when she told him about the baby. And yet, here he was. Standing in her doorway for the first time since their daughter was born.

She should have turned him away. After all, Henry Bowers was everything she despised—violent, unpredictable, a product of a hateful home that had turned him into something twisted. But she also knew that people could be more than what they seemed. That somewhere beneath the hardened shell, there had to be something more than just rage and cruelty.

And maybe, just maybe, he was here to prove that.

Their daughter cooed in her crib, oblivious to the tension between them. He glanced toward the sound, his usual arrogance faltering for just a moment before he masked it again with indifference.

She crossed her arms, standing between him and the baby as if she could shield her from whatever storm Henry might bring."Why are you here, Henry?”

A smirk curled at his lips, but there was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place. Not softness, but hesitation. Uncertainty.

“I just—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his unkempt hair, frustration evident."I just wanted to see her.”

The words were simple, yet they carried weight. More than she expected.

Would this change anything? Could Henry Bowers, the boy who had terrorized so many, the boy who had never known love, be anything resembling a father? Or was this just another game, another way to get under her skin?

She didn’t know. But for the sake of their daughter, she had to find out.