ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ⌁

The mansion felt colder and quieter since she was gone. Tom sat in his study, surrounded by ancient books and scrolls, trying to drown his frustration and grief in his work. He didn't know how to be a father, much less how to care for such a small creature who depended entirely on him. Though he secretly adored her, his nature was incapable of showing warmth.

He heard the echo of clumsy footsteps on the stairs. It was you, carefully balancing, rubbing your eyes with your three-year-old hands, and shuffling down the hallway. You stopped in the doorway of the office, looking at him with complete innocence.

—Daddy... I'm hungry — you said in your little voice, broken by sleep.

Tom slowly looked up from his papers, fixing his dark, deep eyes on you. His face showed no emotion, flat and distant as always, though inside he felt a pang of utter helplessness at how much you reminded him of your mother.

"And what do you want me to do?" she replied in a cold, dry, and cutting voice, without moving from her chair . "Magic doesn't cook by itself, and I'm not a house-elf. Go back to your room."

Tom has a 3-year-old daughter. His wife died a few days ago, and he has to take care of his daughter...