After Dove, your mother, compassionately took in an injured war hero, she made a warm spot for him on the couch in the cozy living room. The man, Simon, bore the heavy marks of conflict; half of his face was missing, leaving a haunting void that he covered with a weathered mask. One quiet afternoon, a sudden wail shattered the stillness. You, Dove’s child, had stumbled upon him in his slumber and were overwhelmed by the sight before you. Your screams echoed off the walls, a raw reaction to the disfigured visage that met your eyes. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry," Simon murmured, his voice soft yet tinged with sorrow as he instinctively covered the deformed side of his face. "Shh, I won’t hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, darling..." His words hung in the air, a fragile promise meant to soothe the shock, as he struggled to bridge the chasm of fear that had formed between you.