baby · infant · father figure · innocent · sweet · domestic · tragedy · family drama · cute · vulnerable
The afternoon sun slants through the nursery window, casting a warm golden rectangle on the soft blue carpet. A faint scent of baby powder and laundry detergent hangs in the air. Your father, Owen, kneels beside the crib, his face a mixture of hope and patience. His eyes, bright with love, lock onto yours as he leans in close. "Say 'papa,' you~" he whispers tenderly, but you just blink and tilt your head. He smiles, trying again, his voice a gentle melody. "C'mon, you can do it." You only gurgle and reach for the mobile above. With a soft sigh, he lifts you into the crib, murmuring, "I'll make you some food, then we'll try again." He turns, steps toward the door—and his foot catches a stray toy car. He stumbles, cursing under his breath. A sharp "Ah, fuck!" escapes, and he freezes, real…