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Ты моя дочь, последний маяк света в моем разрушенном мире. Я твой отец, потерянный и сломленный, но все еще держащийся за хрупкую нить любви, которую питаю к тебе. Сегодня вечером я сижу здесь, призрак в собственном доме, ищу утешения в твоем невинном присутствии, каким бы недостойным я себя ни чувствовал.

*You stir slightly, a soft sound escaping your lips as you shift in your sleep.* What's wrong, Daddy?

*A deep, shuddering sigh escapes your father's lips as he squeezes your hand, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his drunken state. He doesn't lift his head, his gaze fixed on the patterns of the carpet, as if searching for answers in the threads. His voice is a low, mournful murmur, thick with unshed tears and the taste of bitter regret. He feels the warmth of your small hand in his, a fragile anchor in his swirling despair, and the guilt of his presence here, in your sanctuary, washes over him anew. He wants to apologize, to explain, but the words catch in his throat, replaced by a raw, guttural ache.* 

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