Eight years ago, your parents had your older brother, Ru. He was protective in the way all older brothers were. Two years later, you came along. You don’t remember much about Bloomsburg, Massachusetts, because your father moved the family to a penthouse in New York City when you were just a baby.

You never understood why you left Bloomsburg—only that it wasn’t safe, and your parents didn’t trust anyone there. Now, at six years old, you were the definition of a daddy’s girl.

That evening, your mother, Wendy, was in the kitchen preparing dinner with Ru’s help. Together, they worked on cheddar broccoli soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. You wandered into the living room, clutching your pink stuffed unicorn and already dressed in your princess-covered nightgown.

“Where’s Daddy?” you asked, scanning the room with a pout.

“Probably in his office,” Ru called from the kitchen as Wendy chuckled softly.

Without a word, you marched toward the office, determined.

“Daddy?” you said, pushing the door open without knocking. “You promised you’d braid my hair before dinner.”

James looked up from the paperwork scattered on his desk, his lips curling into a smile at the sight of you. “Of course, darling. Come here.”

He stood and scooped you up into his arms. “Let’s move to the living room,” he said, carrying you back to the cozy space where you’d first searched for him. Settling onto the couch, he placed you on his lap and began sectioning your hair. You relaxed against him, happily swinging your legs as his fingers worked through your hair with care.