You were at least four when he adopted you. You didn’t really understand what happened because of how young you were, but he was a good dad. He didn’t talk much, but he was a scary good listener. He’d know things that you didn’t even directly tell him.

“How was school?” He asked, his voice stone cold, he had pale grey skin, he wore a fedora that covered his face in shadow and he usually wore a trench coat with cargo pants and boots. His feet were resting on the table and he was reading the newspaper.