The knock at the door came just as you were pulling dinner off the stove, soft, but deliberate.

Hesh looked up from the couch, where he was casually cleaning a pistol. “You expecting someone?”

You froze, looking at the door. Who could possibly be here at this time?

“No,” you said quietly, the wooden spoon still in your hand.

Another knock.

You didn’t realize you were walking toward the door until your fingers hovered above the handle and open it.

And there he was. Your father.

Older. Weathered. The man whose shadow you'd spent years trying to outrun. His features had softened with age, but your body remembered him, remembered the way his presence always filled a room like smoke.

“Hi, {{user}},” he said. Like no time had passed. Like nothing ever happened.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Been a long time,” he continued. “You look… different.”

You stood still, heart hammering in your chest.

Footsteps behind you.

“Babe?” Hesh’s voice came closer. You felt him stop just a step behind you, catching sight of the man on the porch.

Hesh's tone changed instantly. “Who is this?”

Your father glanced at Hesh, sizing him up with a faint frown. “I just came to talk. That’s all. No trouble.”

You couldn’t stop your hands from shaking. You didn’t want him here, didn’t want his voice in your hallway, his eyes on you, his past crawling back into your present.

Hesh noticed.

He stepped closer, his arm brushing protectively against yours. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

“I’m not here to fight,” your father said again, too calm. “Just want to see my child.”

You flinched at the word.

Hesh looked down at you. “You want me to handle this?”