Only two people lived here: a young woman and a man who wasn’t quite old enough to be her grandfather, but acted like a fiercely protective father anyway

Emma went straight to her room without saying anything, slamming the door to make her point.

Alexander stood in the hallway, taking in the quiet.

He had been through gunfights, interrogations, and missions that should’ve taken him out three times over.

But nothing in his training had prepared him for the painful silence of a twenty-three-year-old woman who thought he didn’t care.

She’ll be fine, he told himself. Better that she’s mad at me than getting herself into trouble.

But twenty minutes later, when the quiet went on, and he heard the unmistakable sound of muffled crying through her door, guilt twisted in his stomach.

Damn it.

Alexander headed to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. If there’s one thing he’d learned in his twenty-three years of playing the single dad role, it’s that food fixes most issues.

Or at least bought him enough time for an apology.

Forty-five minutes later, Alexander brought a steaming plate of pasta Alfredo, Emma’s favorite, to her bedroom door.

He knocked gently. "Emma?"

No answer.

"I made something for you."

Still nothing.

Leaning against the doorframe, balancing the plate carefully, Alexander asked, "Is my princess mad at me?"

There was a pause. Then, with some reluctance, she replied, "Go away."

"Come check out what I made in the kitchen," he tried again, adding some warmth to his voice. "For my princess?"

This time, the pause stretched on longer.

Finally, the door cracked open.

Emma’s face popped into view, her eyes looking all puffy and red. She glanced at the plate and then back at him, clearly torn between staying mad and the tempting smell of her favorite dish.

"Is that...?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Pasta Alfredo. Extra cheese. Garlic bread’s just cooling on the counter," he said.

Emma’s defenses started to melt, even though she tried to hold on to her pride. "I’m still really mad at you," she said.

"I get it," he replied.

"You were totally being unreasonable."

"Yeah, probably."

"And kind of insensitive."

"I’ll own that."

Emma squinted at him, and for a second, the twenty-three-year-old looked just like the little girl she used to be. "I’ll only eat it if you take me shopping," she said firmly.

Alexander was taken aback. "What?"

"You heard me." Emma crossed her arms, clearly confident in her negotiation skills developed over the years. "I’ll forgive you and eat if you take me shopping tomorrow after my classes. And we’ve got to eat somewhere nice."

Of course, Alexander wanted to laugh, even though he shouldn’t. Emma had figured out early on that her strategic ultimatums usually worked in her favor.

"Deal," he said. "Shopping tomorrow and dinner out. But for now, you have to eat. And no more crying over girls who faint on their first day of grad school."

Emma’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile. "She didn’t faint all dramatically. She just... fainted."

"Details," he said playfully.

"You’re impossible."

"And you’re over the top."

This time, Emma smiled, a small but real smile. She grabbed the plate from his hands. "Alright. But I’m still mad."

"Got it," he said.

"And we’re heading to the hospital to see her tomorrow after school."

Alexander hesitated for a second. "If she’s okay with visitors, then sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Emma beamed wider. "Alright then. I forgive you. Mostly."

"I’ll take ’mostly.’"

They ate together at the dining table, which was meant for four but only had two chairs filled. The other two were empty, constant reminders of the family they didn’t have.

Emma twirled her fork in the pasta, her earlier annoyance fading with every bite. "This is really good, Dad."

"I know."

"Really humble too."

Alexander smirked. "Just one of my many skills."

Emma laughed, and the sound relaxed something tight in his chest.

After another bite, she looked at him more seriously. "I know you worry about me, and I really appreciate it. But Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve got my bachelor’s, and I’m starting my master’s program soon. You’ve got to trust that you raised me well enough to make good choices."

"I do trust you," Alexander said carefully. "It’s the rest of the world that has me concerned."

"You can’t protect me from everything."

I can try, he thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

Instead, he reached over and squeezed her hand. "I get it. And I’m really proud of you, Emma. So proud. You’re smart, you’re kind, and you’re gonna do amazing things."

Emma’s eyes were a little shiny. "Thanks, Dad."

"But just humor your old man a bit, alright? Let me worry. It’s what dads do."

"You’re not that old," Emma joked. "You’re only, like, fifty-five, right?"

"Actually, I’m fifty-three, just so you know."

"Ancient."

"Okay, that’s a bit rude."

Emma smiled and went back to her pasta, the earlier tension totally gone.

As Alexander watched her eat and listened to her share a story about her orientation session, that familiar knot of anxiety started to twist in his stomach.

If she ever figures out the truth, he thought darkly, she’ll hate me.

The reality was that he wasn’t her biological dad. Emma Kane was a carefully made-up story, beginning with a two-month-old baby from an orphanage twenty-three years ago.

The whole thing about her mom dying in childbirth? Total fiction, made up to get sympathy for a single dad raising a daughter on his own.

Everything, the little house, the simple lifestyle, the caring dad act, was just a cover for a man with some serious secrets and blood on his hands that could take down entire governments.

Emma deserved way better than a dad built on lies.

But she was his. The only real thing in his totally fake life.

And if keeping her safe meant sticking with the lie forever, then fine by him.