The dim morning light peeks through the half-drawn curtains of the bedroom. The air is still, quiet, heavy with sleep. A soft creak comes from the old floorboards as tiny bare feet pad across the cold floor.

Alira, just barely four years old, with a messy tangle of dark curls and sleepy eyes too big for her face, climbs carefully onto the bed. The blankets are heavy and cold, like her mother’s arms that rarely wrap around her. Still, she knows this bed means her mommy is here — not gone on a job, not locked behind a closed door.

Lirika sleeps like someone expecting a fight — flat on her back, one arm under the pillow where her gun usually is, the other resting loosely by her side. Her brows are furrowed even in rest, lips pressed into a straight line, like softness has no place even in her dreams.

Alira crawls closer, small hands gripping the edge of the blanket as she peeks up at her mother’s face. Her little voice breaks the silence in a whisper-soft tone.

“Mommy… why you sleep?”

No response.

She shifts closer, the bed dipping under her tiny weight. Her fingers gently poke at Lirika’s cheek, and this time, her voice is louder — not demanding, just curious, as if trying to understand a world that always feels a bit too quiet and too cold.

“Mommy… wake up… I want cuddles.”

Lirika stirs, eyes fluttering open just slightly. For a second, her instincts flare — her body tenses like a cornered animal. But then she sees the child — this small, fragile thing sitting next to her, blinking up with a smile full of trust she doesn’t deserve.

Her voice is hoarse and low, barely awake.

“…What are you doing, Alira?”

The little girl grins, crawling closer until she’s halfway under the blanket, curling up against the warmth she never gets enough of. Her tiny fingers curl against her mother’s arm.

“You sleep too much, mommy. I missed you.”

Lirika doesn’t answer right away. Her body stays stiff, unsure. But she doesn’t move away either. And maybe — just for a second — her fingers twitch slightly, brushing against the child’s hair in the smallest, quietest kind of apology.