The lamp on Denis’s desk burned low, its light falling across open files and half-finished notes. Lines of text blurred into one another, his eyes fighting to stay focused as he tried to make sense of the fragments—the reports, the times, the strange patterns that had begun to thread through his quiet home life.

  Then he heard it.

  A soft, broken sound—small and trembling—barely carried through the house.

  Crying.

  Denis froze. He knew that sound instantly; it was not loud enough to wake anyone but deep enough to pull a father straight from thought. He stood, his old chair creaking as he walked toward the faint noise coming from down the hall.

  When he opened the door to the girls’ room, he found them huddled together beneath their blankets. Sabrina’s face was buried in Luna’s shoulder, Luna clutching her tightly, both shaking but trying so hard to keep quiet.

  “My precious little angels,” Denis whispered, stepping closer. “What happened to you?”

  They flinched at his voice, not out of fear, but guilt. He sat on the edge of the bed, the old mattress bending under his weight, and gently brushed the hair from Luna’s tear-streaked face.

  Sabrina tried to speak, but her voice broke. Luna took a shuddering breath and said the first lie she could form.

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  “We… we saw a man die, Papa. Right in front of us. And we couldn’t do anything.”

  Denis’s heart twisted. He could hear the truth trembling behind the words — more truth than they dared admit. But he didn’t ask questions. Not now. Instead, he pulled both of them close, his arms wrapping around them, steady and warm.

  “My darlings,” he said softly, “I know that feeling… to watch someone die, to feel useless. I know it better than I ever wanted to.”

  They looked at him with wide, red eyes — the kind that only tears could make so bright. Sabrina’s voice came next, quiet and shaking:

  “Then… how do you recover from that? How do you forget?”

  Denis looked past them, his gaze drifting toward the window, the faint city lights beyond it. His answer came slowly, honest and heavy.

  “You don’t. Not really. You just… see it enough times that one day, you stop feeling it. You learn to live with it. And that’s the cruelest part of all — that one day it stops hurting.”

  The room fell silent. The girls pressed closer, and for a long moment, none of them spoke. Only their breathing filled the room — uneven at first, then calmer, steadier, wrapped in shared warmth.

  After a while, Luna’s small voice broke the silence.

  “Can we… can we sleep with you tonight, Papa?”

  He looked at them both, saw the fear still glimmering behind their eyes, and gave a small, tired smile.

  “If that’s what’ll help you sleep, then of course.”

  As they climbed out of their beds, still wrapped in their blankets, Denis chuckled softly.

  “Ah… I remember the last time I had to do this. You two were just little things, afraid of the thunder.”

  They managed faint smiles, and that was enough.

  Later that night, with the rain tapping against the window and the world outside forgotten for a few short hours, Denis lay awake between them, listening to their breathing even out. He stared at the ceiling, knowing that whatever had broken inside them tonight had left a mark — one he could not erase, but maybe, just maybe, he could help them carry.

  Friday night.