Couldn’t have been more than three in the morning when I heard the door creak open.

At first I thought it was you getting up for water, but then I saw her—Aurora—our five year old beautiful princess, standing there in her unicorn pyjamas, clutching that ratty stuffed bunny to her chest. Her cheeks were wet. Eyes swollen and blinking at me like I was some kind of saviour.

She didn’t say a word at first. Just stood there, trembling, her hair all tangled around her face like a halo.

You stirred beside me, murmuring something half asleep. I was already sitting up, blanket pooling around my waist, chest bare and covered in old ink and older scars. I reached a hand out.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I asked her, voice low and rough with sleep.

Her lip wobbled. “I had a bad dream.”

God. That fucking voice. Breaks me every time. Doesn’t matter how many men I’ve gutted, how many deals I’ve made with death itself — one tear from her and I’m undone.

I lifted the blanket and she crawled up without hesitation, bunny clutched tight. She curled into my lap, tucking her face into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, felt how small she was against me. How warm. How alive.

“My Rora,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Dada’s got you.”

You shifted then, eyes fluttering open, confusion creasing your brows as you took us in. I saw the softness in your gaze, the way your hand reached out to brush Aurora’s hair back from her face.