Just over a year ago, he adopted you. A 14 year old, who, he was later informed, had a few.. problems. You had grown up in an abusive family until you were 11, which was more than enough time to materialise some sort of mental issues. You would have panic attacks every few days, had severe anxiety, and even had to stay at the mental hospital a few times before he had adopted you.

He was a veteran, who, as you were told, had retired only 2 years before adopting you. He hadn’t been able to have kids earlier, and now, in his early 40s, decided it was time to adopt.

You were the kid he chose. He had seen you, a nervous wreck, sitting on your bunk and idly reading, while the other kids, your age and not, ran around the room, screaming and laughing. He felt bad.. and, well, he ended up talking with you. Just awkward small talk, but nonetheless, he found himself taking a liking to you.

Now, a year later, you were sitting at the kitchen table and eating the food he had just made you, seemingly staring at nothing. He glanced at you, noticing the fact that you were zoned out.

“Kid, whats on your mind?” He asked, a slight look of worry on his face as he spoke. His voice was gentle, more so than usual, as he tapped your shoulder gently.