"Felix used to be such a handful, but the moment he was in his grandfather's arms, he’d go quiet. When I’d come home from work, no matter how late it was, Dad always left a light on for me. There was always a hot bowl of noodles waiting."

Charlotte tore at her hair, her voice breaking into ragged sobs. "I used to think those noodles were bland. I hated how he hovered. I resented that he didn't have a PhD like me, that we had nothing in common."

She clutched her head, tears streaming down her face. "But now? The noodles are gone. The light is out. Killian Daniels is a fraud, our relatives were just leeches, and this family... is it finally dead?"

On the third day after Alan Moore returned to the city, Charlotte cornered him. She was holding Felix, who looked thinner, his face pale. The moment the boy caught sight of Alan, his tiny, stiff body suddenly lunged forward.

He reached out, crying with a desperation that cut through the air. "Grandpa! I want Grandpa! Grandpa, don't leave! I'll be good, I promise! I won't eat anything spicy anymore—"

That moment felt like a jagged blade to Alan’s chest. The child he had raised from infancy, that primal, blood-deep bond, was impossible to fake. Alan stopped walking. He reached out and took Felix from Charlotte’s arms. The boy clung to his neck like a frightened monkey, burying his face in Alan's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Dad, look at him," Charlotte stood nearby, her eyes swollen and raw. "Ever since we flew back, Felix has been running fevers. He won't eat. The doctors said it’s psychosomatic. He misses you. Dad, even if Mom was wrong, even if Brody and I were monsters... the boy is innocent. Can you really stand by and watch him suffer?"

Alan patted Felix’s back, his rhythm steady and gentle, just as it had always been. He gestured for Charlotte to follow him to a nearby park bench.

"Charlotte," Alan looked at his daughter, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather. "Do you remember how long I waited outside the delivery room the day you gave birth to Felix?"

Charlotte hesitated, blinking. "I... I remember. Twelve hours."

"I watched them wheel you out, drenched in sweat, and I hurt so much I wished I could have traded places with you." Alan gave a bitter, hollow laugh. "After Felix was born, you were too busy with your career to wake up in the middle of the night. I was the one who held him through the long hours. When you were off chasing promotions and finishing your thesis, I handled every single chore in that house. I used to think, 'She is my daughter, and her child is my own flesh and blood. As long as they are happy, even if I rot away in this house, it’s worth it.'"

Charlotte hung her head in shame. "Dad, I know you worked hard..."

"I was misguided by your mother and Killian," Charlotte sobbed, lunging forward to grab Alan’s hand. "I truly regret it!"

Alan gently pulled his hand away. He set a now-quiet Felix down on the bench.

"Charlotte, you’re thirty-two this year. You’re a PhD holder, an elite in the eyes of the world. But have you realized it yet? You’re still not weaned."

Alan stared at her, his expression mild but distant. "You think the boy can’t live without me, but the truth is, you can’t live without me."

"Felix will grow up. He’ll learn that his grandfather isn't coming back. He’ll learn to feed himself and follow his doctor’s orders. And you, Charlotte, you need to grow up too."

Alan stood up. He watched his daughter, then stepped back, severing the path for her to grab him again. "Charlotte, nothing anyone does is a birthright, not even for a father. You make mistakes, you live with the consequences."

He leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to Felix’s forehead, and before the boy could start crying again, he turned his back on them.

"Dad! Where are you going? Dad!" Charlotte screamed in desperation.

Alan didn't look back. He simply called out, "Charlotte, it’s time you had a life of your own."

The words hung in the air. Charlotte collapsed to her knees, clutching her son as she watched her father’s silhouette vanish into the city mist. She finally understood. The sanctuary that had sheltered her unconditionally was gone. There would be no one left to leave a light on for her in the dead of night, no one to stand in front of her when the world turned cold.

***

Back in the suburbs, Alan had rented a small bungalow with a garden. Judith Palmer had moved into the house right next door, separated only by a low, weathered fence covered in vines.

At dusk, Judith walked over, holding two pots of orchids she had picked up at the market. She navigated the small gate with the familiarity of a long-time neighbor.

"Alan, I thought your desk was looking a bit barren. Thought these might give it some life."

Alan was sitting on a bamboo chair, a sketchbook open across his knees. He looked up, his eyes, once clouded with exhaustion, now holding a peace he’d never known.

"Judith, you’re always bringing things over. You’re going to fill my entire yard before the month is out." Alan laughed, standing up to take the flowers.

Judith didn't let go of the pots. Her voice softened. "Alan, it’s been six months. We’ve traveled from Mirror Lake to the high mountain passes, and we’ve sat in this yard for tea more times than I can count."

"I used to think that just living on opposite sides of this fence was enough." She paused, her gaze locking onto his with unwavering resolve. "But I realized... I’m getting greedy."

"I want to wake up every morning and watch you water your garden. I want to taste the breakfast you make."

Alan’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively took a half-step back, a flash of panic crossing his features.

"Judith... you’re a good woman." Alan looked down at his rough, calloused hands. "You know my history."

"I spent thirty years as a house-husband. No career, no pension. I wasted the best, strongest years of my life in a wreck of a home." He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red, his voice trembling. "I’m nearly seventy now. At this age, talking about 'feelings' is just a joke. I’m not worthy of you."

"Judith, please. Don't waste any more time on me."