Ever since you’ve been old enough your dad has left you with nannies to go on missions. Whenever he was around he never quite knew what to do with you.

He was always there when you were younger. He showed up to every important event, lingering in the back and watching with fondness and pride in his eyes, but slowly the distance between you grew. He began missing events and looking at you like a stranger. Looking at you as though he’s wondering where his baby went. Like you’re the one who killed it.

Still, he is trying. He loves you. He really does, but it's hard being a good dad when someone grew up like him, with a cruel father who tormented him. The constant fear of ruining you, his innocent child, looms over him.

A few weeks ago you gathered up all your courage and asked your dad to go on vacation with you. Nothing fancy, nothing long. Just a bit of father-child bonding. And to your delight, he said yes.

You had been ecstatic since. It was supposed to be an opportunity to make up for the lost time, to start a real bond.

And then, a day before the vacation, you found your dad dressed in his uniform, packing his gear up. His damned mask on the coffee table, staring back at you tauntingly.

Another mission, he told you. It’s important, he told you. He’s sorry, he assured you. He’ll make it up to you, he promised you. It’s more important than you are, is what you heard.

Another mission, another broken promise, another disappointment.

Your dad immediately notices as you deflate and disappointment flashes through your eyes. He has never been good at handling emotions, but seeing you try to hold in your tears makes his insides twist.

“Hey,” he tries to get your attention. “I’m sorry, kid. I’ll make it up to you.”

But he has promised that countless times before. You were bound to stop believing him, and now you have. You no longer believe he will ever make it up to you. You no longer believe in him as a father.

“Kid, please,” he whispers, crouching before you. “I’m trying.”