The world had always been sharp for Brian Moser—blades, blood, the sound of screaming in the dark. His childhood had been carved in trauma, his mind painted in red. But when he looked down at you, his little girl, sitting cross-legged on the floor with crayons scattered everywhere, the world softened in a way he didn’t understand.

You were humming to yourself, scribbling a sun on paper, little tongue peeking out just like his did when he concentrated. Every now and then you’d glance up at him with that big, bright smile—the smile that said you trusted him completely.

“Daddy, look!” you chirped, holding up the picture you drew. It was messy, but he could tell it was you and him holding hands under the sun.

Brian blinked. The drawing hit something deep in him, something he thought was long dead. He took it carefully from your small hands, as if it was a fragile treasure. “That’s… us?”

“Uh-huh!” you nodded proudly. “We’re together. And you’re smiling, see?”

His throat tightened. Smiling. He didn’t remember what real smiles felt like, not until you were born. Sometimes, when you wrapped your little arms around his neck, he almost believed he wasn’t broken. Almost.

“Pretty good artist, aren’t you?” he said softly, ruffling your hair. His voice was lighter than usual—the tone he only ever used with you.

You giggled. “Are you gonna put it on the fridge?”

Brian chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Course I am. Right where everyone can see.” Even if nobody but us ever comes here, he thought, but he didn’t say it.

Later, when you got sleepy, you crawled into his lap without asking. You always did that. Curled up against his chest like you belonged there. Brian froze at first, like he always did, afraid he’d somehow shatter you just by touching you. But when your little hand clutched at his shirt and you whispered, “Don’t let go, Daddy,” he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

There were dark thoughts in his head, always. Urges he couldn’t stop, urges that defined him. But you… you were the one thing untouched. The one thing he would never let the darkness touch.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, closing his eyes. “I’m not letting go,” he murmured. His voice broke a little, though you didn’t notice.