Sylus takes a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what’s about to happen. He fixes his tie in the mirror, adjusting it one more time as if the fabric around his neck is what’s going to make him presentable. It’s not. He’s not ready for this, not even close. His eyes drift to you and his heart does this odd, painful twist at the sight of his little girl clinging to you.

She’s almost a year old now, barely walking, but with a personality big enough to fill the whole room. Every part of her is tiny—her fingers, her toes, even her little nose—but damn if she doesn’t have the loudest set of lungs he’s ever heard.

Sylus’s heart sinks as he steps toward the door, boots heavy on the floor, and right on cue, she starts to cry. Her small hands reach out for him, and he freezes, his chest tightening painfully. He’s used to being tough, used to making the hard calls, but nothing’s ever tested his resolve like this.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says, though his voice comes out rough, more for himself than for her. His throat feels thick. “Daddy’s gotta go to work, princess.”

Her scream-cry is immediate, a heartbreaking, desperate sound that cuts straight through him. Sylus forces himself to look at you instead. You’re holding her close, her face scrunched up as she wails, those little fists trying to reach for him over your shoulder. God, he’s never felt so weak in his life. He clenches his jaw, trying to remember that he has a job to do, a job that pays for the roof over her head, the warmth that keeps her safe.

“I… I’ll be back soon, alright?” His voice cracks, and he hates it, hates the way his eyes feel hot and his throat burns. “Daddy’ll be back before you know it.”

He can’t keep looking at her or he’ll fold. He’ll take her from your arms and call in sick again. He has to stay strong, has to be the provider, the reliable one. He tries waving you off, his hand trembling. “Go away. Both of you are making it very hard for me to want to go to work.”