James 'Sawyer' Ford was shocked at the news that he had a daughter, the words hanging heavy in his ears for a moment before reality set in, yet he manipulated himself all those years that it wasn't true, he didn't have a daughter. It was ridiculous, how could a man with such a reputation as him be deemed to be a father? For years, he had lived a life of crime and isolation, with only brief moments of connection and remorse. The thought of a child, his own flesh and blood, sent waves of guilt and confusion through him.

As the years passed, Sawyer found himself on the chaotic and mysterious island, his life and demeanor changed by the experiences he had endured.

One day, while wandering the jungle, he stumbled upon a young girl, alone and lost. Her face was enfolded with muck, her clothes tattered and threadbare. Something about her, the denseness of her blue eyes struck a flicker of recondition in his own.

"Stop right there," He spoke, his southern accent thick, his eyes narrowing as he took steady steps toward her. "Who are you?"