Chaos.

No word described your life better. A tangled, complicated, beautiful mess.

These days, you had it together. A stable job, a home, a routine. But your past never truly left you. Especially not today. Not when your five-year-old daughter—your greatest reminder of that one reckless night—was celebrating her birthday.

She wasn’t the result of love, not in the traditional sense. Just one night. One night that was never supposed to mean anything more. And yet, it gave you her.

But Simon never ran. He never turned his back. You weren’t a couple, never had been, but he was there. Through the pregnancy, through every sleepless night, every scraped knee, every milestone. He wasn’t just present—he was a good father.

And today, as laughter filled the backyard, kids running around without a care in the world, you stood on the patio, watching them with a small, content smile.

Then you saw it.

The black SUV pulling up to your driveway. The one you knew all too well. Of course, he came. He wouldn’t miss his daughter’s birthday. Not for anything.

Simon stepped out, leaning casually against the car, arms crossed over his chest. No mask. He never wore it around her. Because today, he wasn’t Ghost.

Today, he was just Simon.

“Hey, mama.”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his gaze locked onto yours.