Every morning he woke up at five thirty. He made breakfast before the sun came up. Eggs, toast, orange juice. Lily would sit at the tiny table in mismatched pajamas, coloring while he packed her lunch.
She had her mother’s eyes. His wife had died in a car accident two years earlier. One normal evening she’d texted about picking up milk. An hour later, the police were at his door.
For months, he moved through life numb. Then one night Lily climbed into his lap and whispered, “Daddy, you’re not going to leave me too, right?”
He promised her he wouldn’t. That promise kept him going.
He worked double shifts at Langford Hospitality. Waiting tables. Tending bar. Covering for people who didn’t show up. Just enough to pay rent and keep Lily in her small private school.
He didn’t complain. Complaining didn’t pay bills.
When Victoria finally told him the firing was just a test, she expected relief.
Instead he said quietly, “That kind of test is cruel. Even if you think it works.”