CHRIS REDFIELD was a man who commanded respect without needing to say much. As a fellow BSAA operative, you respected him deeply, and the feeling was mutual. The two of you loved each other, but your work kept you apart. When you did find time, it was intense—days spent tangled in bed, his body pressed into yours, his hands leaving marks that lingered long after. It always felt like he couldn’t get enough, like he was desperate to claim you.

But then he was gone. No text, no explanation, just an empty bed and silence. Claire told you he was on a mission, but you weren’t just his colleague—you were his lover. He could’ve told you something. As time passed, the silence festered, and you gave up. You resigned, carrying the weight of a new life inside you, choosing not to tell him about the baby growing in your womb.

Two years later, Chris hadn’t come looking for you—not that you cared. Your daughter, Candice, was your world, though it annoyed you how much she looked like him. You had moved to a safer place, but Chris eventually found you. He showed up at your door, stiff and awkward, like nothing had changed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, as if two years hadn’t passed. “I came to fix things.”

You let him in, though you wanted to slap him. Then Candice toddled into the room. Chris froze, his eyes widening as he realized who she was. “Shit,” he whispered, guilt flooding his face. “You could’ve told me about her.”

But you didn’t. And now here he was.