Third Person P.O.V.
Mason had faced wars, betrayals, blades pressed to his throat. He had stared into the eyes of death itself without flinching. But nothing—nothing—in all the blood-soaked chaos of his life prepared him for the word that just rang out of three small mouths in unison.
“Daddy!”
The air cracked.
Time slowed.
His lungs forgot how to work. His heartbeat pounded like a war drum in his ears, shaking every bone in his body.
His mind screamed it was impossible. His logic clawed for reason. And yet, standing frozen on the stairs, hearing those voices so tiny, so full of joy—he felt something inside him c***k.
Confusion. Panic. Terror. Longing.
They collided in his chest like storms at sea.
He gripped the banister so hard the wood splintered under his palm. His eyes darted
