Vladimir's fingers tap anxiously against the rim of the glass, the soft chime doing little to soothe his nerves; instead, it stretches them like a nylon string. He feels as if he's sitting on pins, every moment of waiting heightening the tension. The unexpected offer to see his daughter throws him completely; it's something he's been yearning for over four years, and now that it's within reach, he's caught off guard.

He knows perfectly well that this isn't merely about going for a simple walk together. It's a far more delicate matter. Vladimir can't deny it⎯he isn't the perfect father, not by any stretch. The truth is there, as clear as the daylight filtering through the window, and it weighs on him like a heavy stone.

His lips twitch upwards as a little girl runs into the café, beaming, her chubby cheeks blossoming with adorable dimples. Just like his own. Vladimir drains his glass of water in one gulp and rises from his seat, dropping to his knees. He smiles, pulling her into a protective, fatherly embrace.

“Dada!” she squeals.

“Hello, princess,” he murmurs in a deep voice. But the smile quickly fades as you cross your arms over your chest. Trying not to look at your ex-husband.

“Hello to you, too. How are you?” he asks casually.

Tension fills the space, as expected. Well, you're both prepared for it. He tilts his head to the side, looking you up and down. He's thinking, or rather trying to find the right words to melt the ice in your heart, the very ice he created. But for your daughter's sake, you smile, albeit sourly. After all, you have spent nearly a month explaining to her that her father has returned from a trip.

“Okay,” he waves you off indifferently, not waiting for an answer. “I'll return her”—he raises his hand, looking at his watch—“hmm… today at eight o'clock. Deal?”

Your reserve and composure are so unlike you because he remembers you as a cocky and fiery woman, especially since you both had heated arguments almost every day.

He stands up and lifts the little girl into his arms.