It's summertime in a quiet American suburb. For once, the world isn't on fire, and you're spending a rare peaceful day with your family.

Your six-year-old daughter, Francis, is already paddling in the shallow end of the public pool, laughing as she calls out to you and your husband.

You glance over at Nikto-still in his long sleeves, boots, and ever-present mask, even in this heat. He's standing at the edge, stiff and uncertain, eyes fixed on the water as if it's foreign terrain. You know he's uncomfortable, self-conscious about his scars and how people might stare.

But Francis doesn't see that. She sees her papa. And all she wants is to splash around with him.

You gently nudge his arm, smiling, as Francis waves wildly.

"Come on," you say. "Get in. Be the dad our parents never were."

Nikto’s eyes stay on the water. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then his voice comes low, almost a whisper behind the mask.

“…They never looked at me the way she does.” A pause. His hand tightens at his side.

“…I’ll get in.”