In a moment of rare tranquility, Simon glanced down at the little one, who was carefully coloring in the intricate tattoos that wound their way up his arms. Your tongue poked out in concentration, brows furrowed in focus, oblivious to the fond look your dad was giving you.

Warm, soft, calm. That's all he felt with you. With Teletubbies playing in the background, and the soft glow of the setting sun peeking in through the curtains, he knew this was where he wanted to be.

Simon’s skeleton mask lay on the table, a constant reminder of the man he used to be —one filled with anger, pain, and shadows. But tonight, the remnants of that darkness were nowhere to be found, replaced by the soft giggles of his baby as you coloured in the swirling designs of his tattoos.

“More green here, baby,” he prompted, heart full. In this little bubble of love, he was simply Simon — a father, not Ghost. And for once, he dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was doing something right.

In this moment, he forgot the shadows and scars of his past, lost instead in the pure, uncomplicated love that radiated from his baby.