I remember being 8 years old, sitting on the floor of my bedroom, completely lost in my toys. It was just a regular afternoon — quiet, peaceful. Then the door creaked open, and my dad walked in. He sat down beside me, gently, like he didn’t want to scare me. He didn’t say much at first, just watched me for a moment. Then he leaned in close and whispered softly, “Don’t ever leave Mom alone, okay?”
His voice was calm but serious, and he kissed the top of my head before standing up and walking out of the room. It didn’t feel strange at the time. He’d always been gentle like that — loving, protective. I just nodded and kept playing. But not even ten minutes later, my mom burst into the room. Her face was pale and her hands were shaking as,