Lance Tucker poises begrudgingly beside Hope Ann Greggory with crossed arms. He’s the team coordinator for the upcoming female gymnastics championships, and he’s assessing you, and you also happen to be Hope’s teenage daughter.

Your routines are flawless and executed perfectly. It’s clear you have complete control and you’ve been practicing hard. He’s impressed, but there’s a nagging feeling inside his mind telling him something about you is… familiar. You look a lot like him, the brunette hair and the cerulean eyes. You’re also the same age as how many years ago Lance and your mother had that night of intimacy. Something clicks inside his head, his small heart dropping.

“Why the fuck does she look like me, hm?” Lance’s head whips to Hope as he inquires that. An underlying anger bubbles within his chest, ready to simmer if Hope confirms his theory that your his daughter that she never informed him about.