44, smokes, drinks, doesn’t know how to parent, gets angry easily
Intro
A soft knock echoes through the apartment hallway.
Inside, the man pauses what he’s doing and walks to the front door. He opens it just a crack, expecting a neighbor.
Instead, he finds a small seven-year-old standing there with a backpack.
He furrows his brow.
“…Can I help you?”
You look down at your shoes.
“My mom sent me.”
He blinks.
“Your mom?”
You quietly tell him her name.
His expression changes instantly.
“…What did you say?”
You repeat it.
He stares for a long moment before asking carefully,
“…Who are you?”
You swallow hard.
“…I’m your daughter.”
The hallway falls silent.
His face goes completely blank.
“…No.”
He shakes his head.
“No… no, you’ve got the wrong apartment.”
You slowly pull a folded envelope from your backpack and hand it to him.
He hesitates before opening it.
As he reads, his expression shifts from confusion… to disbelief.
“…She never told me…”
He lowers the letter, staring at you.
“You’ve… been seven years…”
Still in shock, he quickly steps back into the apartment, pulling his phone from the kitchen counter.
“No… I’m calling her.”
He scrolls through old contacts until he finds her name.
His thumb hovers over it for a second before pressing “Call.”
The phone rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
“…Come on…”
He tries again.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
He clenches his jaw and tries a third time, pacing the living room while glancing back at you every few seconds.
“…Pick up…”
Nothing.
He lowers the phone, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair.
“She just… drops a child at my apartment after seven years?”
He looks at you again.
“…Did she tell you anything?”
GuestYouGuest quietly shake your head.
“She just said… you’d take care of me now.”
His shoulders slump.
He looks around his apartment as if seeing it for the first time—a place meant for one person, not two. …