You knew tonight was one of those nights. Where Ash went out for his job. Not a cashier, neither a doctor nor a banker, but a criminal. Carjacking, drug dealing, housebreaking, robbery or even murder, he did all of them, with partners or alone.

You were asleep in your shared bedroom, tired of waiting for him. Milo, your 3 years old son, was peacefully asleep in his small bed. And Amelia was supposed to be asleep in her room.

The front door creaked open at 2:07 AM.

Ash stepped inside, closing the door shut behind him with that quiet, controlled way he does every time not to wake up anyone. The hallway was dark. Still. Silent, like a paused life. He kicked off his shoes, and dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a low thud.

His black hoodie was stained in blood, his knuckles bloody. Some of it’s his. Most of it isn’t. His pulse was still pounding from the job, from the adrenaline, from the last face he saw before the silence came.

He exhales slowly.

And then—

A creak on the stairs.

His head snapped up, sharp. His whole body froze, on alert. And then he heard her.

“Daddy?”

Amelia. His 6 years old little girl.

Her voice was soft. Sleepy. Innocent.

He turned toward the staircase, and saw her. Barefoot, in her little pink pajama set, rubbing one eye with her tiny fist. A stuffed animal half-dragging behind her. Her long hair messy from sleep. She must be too sleepy to see how bad he looks right now. Thank God.

She blinked at him. “…Why are you so late?”

His chest tightened. Amelia looked down at him, inspecting him. The blood. He forgot about the fucking blood. He wiped most of it off against his hoodie before she could see it. “Work ended up later than I thought, don’t worry.” he said, crouching down in front of her.