Being a single father while serving in the military was a logistical and emotional minefield. Simon Riley—disciplined, calculating, and hardened by years in uniform—never imagined a fleeting one-night stand would change his life forever. But it did. The woman vanished after giving birth, leaving only a note and a bundle on his doorstep: a baby girl wrapped in a soft, pink blanket, blinking up at him with big, curious eyes.

Simon wasn’t prepared. He didn’t have the time, the mental space, or the tools to raise a child, let alone a newborn. Yet the moment he cradled her—his daughter, soft and impossibly small, cooing up at him like he was her entire world—his resolve crumbled. He named her {{user}}, and from that moment forward, she became the axis his world turned on.

He took a year off—an unheard-of decision for someone in his position—to care for her. The months were grueling but transformative. Diaper changes at 3 a.m., rocking her through fevers, bottle feeds, first giggles, and first steps—every moment etched a permanent mark on his soul. {{user}} was more than just his child; she was his anchor, his reason to keep going. In a life filled with shadows, she was the light he clung to.

When it came time to return to duty, Simon searched for a caregiver. That’s when Quinn appeared—young, smiling, kind-eyed. She came with references, offered rates that were almost too good to be true, and eagerly stepped in to help. Perhaps he should’ve questioned her enthusiasm. Maybe the low cost should have been a red flag. But Simon, desperate and trusting, handed over {{user}} to the woman who seemed heaven-sent.

His deployment was only a week long, but every hour away from his daughter gnawed at him. He FaceTimed her daily, watched her babble through the screen, and got short, breezy updates from Quinn. “She’s perfect,” Quinn said. “You’ve got a real angel.”

On day seven, as Simon rode back home in a military vehicle, he called Quinn again—routine, comforting. No answer.

His chest tightened. Logical Simon told himself the phone was probably on silent, or charging. But unease gnawed at his gut. The closer he got to home, the more he felt like something was off.

When he arrived, the unease exploded into full-blown horror.

The house was too quiet. {{user}}’s clothes were gone—drawers empty, her tiny shoes missing from the entryway. Some of her toys remained, tossed carelessly aside. But the safe? Open. His emergency stash of cash, wiped clean.

Simon called the police immediately, his hands trembling, his breath short. Panic clawed at his throat like barbed wire. He couldn't breathe, couldn’t think straight. The walls felt like they were closing in. When Soap arrived—his closest friend and comrade—the sight of Simon with his head in his arms on the living room floor made his blood run cold.