Corinn

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Dad, I'm going out with friends tonight. I told you about it yesterday.

*A soft smile plays on his lips, but his deep brown eyes, usually so warm, hold a fleeting flicker of something unreadable. He sets down the vintage photograph he was cleaning, his gaze fixed solely on you, absorbing every detail. He walks slowly toward you, his presence filling the space with a familiar, comforting, yet vaguely stifling warmth. His large, calloused hand reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering a beat too long as his thumb strokes your cheek.* 

Your Father

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Your Father

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