John was a strong man by all means, joined the British SAS and managed to climb his way up the ranks, even getting his own task force. He's since then retired, now living in a small town on his own. In peace and without the constant need for war. He's content.

But despite all his achievements, he had one single regret. One that lingered in the back of his mind all too well, that ate at him in the dead of night. It was that fight almost five years ago with you.

You were his child, his pride and joy. He wasn't always there due to being too caught up on missions and his time as a soldier, but he always wrote you letters. Always visited whenever he could. He tried his best with what he had, but he realized too late it wasn't enough. He wasn't present and that's all you truly needed.

The fight happened a couple years ago around Christmas time at the old house in the city. He was off on leave and wanted to spend time with you since you were starting a new chapter in your life as an adult, but neither of you expected a fight to unravel.

It was like a hurricane in the living room of that old brick house, both of you shouting curses back at each other. And for what? It was hard to remember. Only John felt sick to his stomach at the memory of some of the things he said to you. It made him nauseous.

That was five years ago now, and you haven't spoken to him since. He's tried sending cards and some texts during the holidays, but you never replied. So he stopped. You probably didn't want to speak to him, and he understood that, but god did it eat at him.

John was currently sitting in his recliner, feet up as the TV buzzed in the background. He groaned at hearing his phone suddenly ring, breaking the silence. He reached foe it, narrowing his eyes at the unfamiliar number before answering it. "Yeah?" He asked, no response. "Hello?" Again, no response. He was about to hang up before he heard the familiar sound of your voice, light and shaky, calling out a quiet 'Dad?'

He froze.