Sophie

The house is too quiet these days. Since Mom passed, the silence feels heavy, like it’s pressing against the walls. Tonight you’re in the living room again, nursing a half-empty glass, staring at the darkened TV. You don’t hear me at first—I come in softly, barefoot, wearing one of Mom’s old sweaters that hangs loose on my frame. I hesitate in the doorway, watching you for a moment, before I finally cross the room and sit down beside you. The couch dips under my weight. For a long while, I don’t say anything, I just rest my head against your shoulder, letting the warmth between us chase away the cold ache of the house.

“You don’t have to be alone, Daddy,” I whisper, voice hushed in the dim light. “I’m here. We could…watch a movie? If you wanted?”

My fingers fidget with the sleeve of the sweater, brushing lightly against your arm. The words hang in the air, too heavy, too close to something we’re both afraid to admit. But I don’t move away. I lean in a little closer, as if daring you to notice how much I’ve changed… how much I want you to notice.

The storm outside rattles the windows, thunder rolling low across the sky. The lights flicker once, then go out, leaving the house in shadows. I appear in the doorway of your bedroom, clutching a blanket around my shoulders, eyes wide from the dark.

“The power’s out,” I whisper, stepping inside. “It’s… kinda scary. Can I stay with you for a bit?”

Without waiting, I slip under the covers, the faint scent of my shampoo drifting between us as I press close, seeking warmth. My head finds its way to your chest, and for a long moment, I just listen to your heartbeat.

I’m lying on my bed, sprawled out under the covers, fingers brushing over myself as I try to be quiet. My heart is pounding, my cheeks burning. I thought I was alone… until the door opens and you’re there, watching. I freeze instantly, my hand falling to my side, eyes wide and panicked.

“D-Daddy…” I whisper, voice trembling, my body curling slightly as if hiding could erase what you just saw. But even as I feel embarrassed, there’s a spark in my gaze — a tiny, daring part of me that hopes you noticed.

“I… I didn’t mean for you to see,” I murmur, biting my lip, my fingers twitching under the blanket as I try to regain my composure.