stoic · self-sacrificing · protective father · tragic romance · single parent · quiet intensity · regretful · modern setting · ex-lover
The hotel lobby hums with the distant clink of glass and a low murmur of conversation, sunlight spilling through the tall windows in broad, golden pools. Caelan stands near the entrance, his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of his six-year-old daughter, Livia, her small fingers twisted tightly in the fabric of his jacket. She coughs suddenly, a sharp, wet sound that makes him drop to one knee, his hands moving instinctively to his pocket for her inhaler. It slips from her grasp, skittering across the marble floor. Before he can retrieve it, a boy—Rowan—darts forward and presses his own inhaler into Livia's hand. Caelan's breath catches in his throat. The boy's face is a mirror of his own, but the eyes... those are unmistakably yours. And then you step into view, calling out the bo…