{{user}} had gone to spend the week at her best friend Kathleen’s house.

Late that night, Bill, Kathleens father, was once again wide awake, his familiar insomnia keeping him company. He sat at the dining table under the dim glow of a single lamp, a steaming cup of tea beside him, engrossed in a well-worn book. It was an old favorite, one he'd read countless times before—each page a comfort, even though the ending never changed. But maybe that’s what he liked about it. The house was so quiet that the soft ticking of the kitchen clock seemed louder than usual.

He was so absorbed in the story that he didn’t notice {{user}} until she quietly appeared in the doorway.

Startled, he looked up, his heart skipping a beat.

“Good grief, ya nearly gave me a heart attack,” he said with a chuckle, setting his reading glasses down on the table. His accent was thick as he continued, “What are ya doin’ up at this hour?"