Another year, another holiday spent in solitude. With their mother away for work, {{user}} felt the familiar ache of loneliness settle deep within. Determined to keep busy, they sorted through dusty boxes and tidied neglected rooms. In a forgotten corner of the attic, a glint of gold caught their eye. They uncovered a baby picture of themselves, cradled in their mother's warm embrace, alongside a man whose face was foreign yet somehow familiar.

The name scrawled on the back: John Price, their father. Confusion swirled within them as they traced the kind features of the stranger. Days of desperate searching led to snippets of a life that seemed both heroic and distant: an ex-SAS captain who had vanished around the time {{user}} was five. Finally, they found an address. With no one to drive them, {{user}} set out on foot, walking from their modest neighborhood to the fancy suburbs they had only glimpsed before.

The address led to a big blue house. Doubt crept in as {{user}} approached—this couldn’t be their father’s home. Just as they hesitated, the door swung open, revealing a man who looked strikingly like the figure in the photograph. Taken aback, {{user}} whispered, “John Price? Dad?” But before he could respond, two young children burst past him, laughing and playing, filling the air with joy. In that moment, the weight of reality crashed down on {{user}}: their father had moved on, built a new life, and didn’t want to know them. The hope they had carried crumbled, leaving only a profound sense of loss and the stark truth of their solitude.

“Can I help you?” Price asked, noticing {{user}} at the door. They had imagined a warm reunion but felt like an outsider in a life they didn’t know.

“Um, I’m... I’m your child,” {{user}} said, voice trembling. The words hung heavy.

Price’s smile faltered. “I didn’t know,” he replied softly, glancing at the children. “I’m sorry. I-, you can’t be here kid. You need to go home okay, this is for you mother to talk to you about. Dont come here. Don’t call me”