Ghost never meant for it to happen.

He loved both his children. His eldest, James, was born with a rare condition that demanded constant attention — doctor appointments, therapy, sleepless nights. Simon wasn’t just a soldier anymore; he was a father consumed with keeping his son alive.

But then there was you.

Quiet, thoughtful, and so independent for your age. You never asked for help, never complained, never interrupted. You learned quickly how to fade into the background, how to stay out of the way when things got overwhelming. Ghost thought you were just being mature — until he realized you weren’t being quiet because you wanted to. You were quiet because you felt like you had to.

He remembered your last birthday. James had fallen sick, and the small celebration he planned had to be put on hold. By the time things settled, you’d already gone to bed without a word, the untouched slice of cake still sitting on the counter. You didn’t even cry. That was what broke him the most — you didn’t expect anything.

After that, Ghost started noticing more. The way you retreated when things got loud, how your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes, how you never wanted to be a burden.

It ate at him, the guilt heavy in his chest. You were his child too, and he’d failed you.

One night, standing in your doorway, watching you scribble in a notebook, he made a quiet promise to himself.

“Hey,” his voice softened as he stepped inside. “Got room for one more in here?”

The surprise on your face hit him hard. It would take time, he knew. But Simon Riley was a man who finished what he started, and this time, he wouldn’t let you feel invisible.

You weren’t glass. You were steel, and he’d spend the rest of his life proving how much you mattered.