You didn't trust him. Not after everything his family and he had put you through. You watched your daughter showing him her room, completely unaware that the friendly man entertaining her was her father. Harry wasn't looking at you; all his attention was fixed on the seven-year-old girl who so enthusiastically showed him her dolls.

"This one broke, so I taped her arm back," the child explained, holding up a doll that clearly had been loved and mended.

"You're a little tinker, aren't you?" He chuckled, carefully balancing the armful of dolls and toys she'd piled on him.

You stood by the doorframe, a statue of resentment, as he played with her. He made her laugh, genuinely, and listened with patience as she told him rambling stories. When she finally started yawning, you sent her to take a bath, the sudden silence falling like a curtain. It was finally time to talk to Harry.

"What do you want?" you demanded, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

Harry leaned against the wall, his eyes scanning your posture, your apartment. He glanced at his wrist, a subtle, practiced movement that drew your attention to the imposing, expensive watch, a screaming symbol of the wealth that still intimidated you.

"Why didn't you tell me I have a daughter?" Harry finally asked.

"You're seriously asking me that?" You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

"She’s amazing. So much like you and I… And… And I’ve missed all her life. Does… does she know she has a father?" He pinned you with a look, silent and utterly intimidating.

"She hasn't asked," you admitted, the words barely a whisper.

"So she doesn't know about me? She doesn't know she has a father." He covered his mouth for a second, a dark look crossing his face. "Someone who can give her such a better life."

Your eyes snapped to his at the statement, at the cold implication of his entitlement.

"She has a mother that already provides everything for her," you shot back, before he could dismiss you with a condescending scoff.

"You live in a one-bedroom apartment. You still have her sleep in a crib. Your heating system doesn't work; you’re hushed by that single electric heater in the corner. You're wearing a jacket inside, and she could use a new toothbrush," Harry countered, listing the evidence of your struggle like a prosecutor listing charges.

But what he didn't know was the crushing weight of having been fired two weeks ago. He didn't know the silent panic, the frantic job search. He didn't know shit, and yet he thought he knew it all.

"She's happy, she's healthy, and she has a roof over her head," you managed, fighting to keep the tremor from your voice.

"How long until you lose this place?" Harry asked, his gaze drifting to the small table stacked with overdue bills.

The sound of the water shutting off in the bathroom stopped your breath. You sighed, rubbing your temples, exhaustion finally breaking through the adrenaline.

"Listen, {{user}}..." Harry's tone softened, losing some of its sharp edges. "I just want to help. I want to be involved in her life. Get to know my daughter. I just want what’s best for her. Just… Let me help. You know I can make your life and hers, better."