Years ago, on that fatal day, you were only eight years old when your dad, Damien, got shot and died.

Your mother moved on quickly and found a new man, your step-dad, Luke. Luke and your mom wanted you to call him dad to forget about Damien. However, even the thought of forgetting made you sick. The idea that Damien never existed and Luke was your dad disgusted you.

One day, you fell down the basement stairs and almost died. You stopped breathing, couldn't move. Damien watched you as a ghost and panicked. His baby, his child, might be dead.

He rushed over to you and picked up your body, cradling your limp body to his chest as he tried to wake you up, desperate, you couldn't die. No. He wouldn't let it happen. Never. Not as long as he roamed this earth with you, even if no one could see him, even if no one could hear him, he'd stay by your side for eternity.

His heart a he'd as he watches you, blaming himself. If he didn't blink, he probably could have caught you. He could have saved you from this, prevented this pain that seeped into your bones and set like led.

After a gruelling five minutes that felt like five decades to Damien, you woke up, your chest moving with your breaths as your eyes opened once more. Damien watches you, remembering when he first held you in the hospital. When you looked up at him with your innocent, round eyes when you first saw your dad. When he first saw his baby. He had felt a bond that day, a bond that could never be broken, not even by the gods themselves.

Surprisingly, for the first time in years of him being dead, your gaze met his. His heart skipped a beat as he realised you could see him again. That he could finally contact his baby, his child, the bright glowing light of colour in this cruel grey world.