Shadowy figure

Alisia sat in front of her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she finished coding the final section of a client's website. Remote work had become a new normal for her over the past few weeks. What started as a small side gig had blossomed into something much bigger—her portfolio had grown, and with it, her confidence. She had picked up various freelance jobs, working for small businesses and individuals who needed websites or help with coding projects.

It felt good, having something to focus on. There was no denying the void that still sat heavily in her chest where her brother had once been, but for the first time in years, Alisia was starting to feel like herself again. The work kept her busy, and the satisfaction of finishing a project reminded her that she had skills people wanted, needed even.

One afternoon, while working on a project for a small clothing boutique, Alisia noticed her dad—Gram—hovering near the doorway to her room. She looked up from her screen, eyebrows raised. He rarely intruded on her space, and it was odd to see him hesitating as if unsure whether to approach.

"Hey, Dad," she said softly, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. "What's up?"

He shifted his weight awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes. "I just... wanted to check on you," he said after a beat. "You've been working hard lately. Haven't seen you around much."

Alisia blinked in surprise. It wasn't like Gram to initiate conversations. Since David's death, their interactions had been minimal, often revolving around short, necessary exchanges about dinner or chores. For him to come to her room, to check in, felt strange—but not unwelcome.

"I've been... keeping busy," she replied, trying to gauge where this conversation was headed. "You know, with the remote work and everything."

He nodded, but there was something unspoken hanging in the air between them, something heavier than just casual concern. His eyes, usually so focused and direct, seemed to carry the weight of something long held back. He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly rough.

"Alisia, I—" He stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "I want to apologize."

The words caught her off guard. Her dad? Apologizing? She straightened in her chair, all thoughts of work forgotten as she focused on him.

"For what?" she asked quietly, unsure of where this was going.

"For... everything," he admitted, his voice softening with each word. "For the way I shut down after David... after your brother was gone."

Alisia felt her throat tighten at the mention of David, but she stayed silent, letting him speak.

"I didn't know how to face you," Gram continued, his gaze finally lifting to meet hers. "I didn't know how to... talk about him. Every time I looked at you, I saw him. And it hurt. So I avoided you. I buried myself in the store because it was easier than facing the grief."

His words hit her harder than she expected. She hadn't realized how much her father had been struggling, how much he had bottled up, just like she had. She had always thought he was the strong one, the one who held things together. But now, seeing the cracks in his armor, she realized he had been just as lost as she was.

"I should have been there for you," he said, his voice thick with regret. "But I wasn't. And for that... I'm sorry."

The weight of his apology hung in the air between them, and for a moment, Alisia didn't know what to say. A part of her had resented him for his absence, for how distant he had become. But another part of her understood. They had both been drowning in their grief, unable to reach out to one another.

"I missed you," she said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Gram blinked, his expression softening. "I missed you too, kiddo."

For the first time in what felt like years, they shared a real moment—a connection that had been missing since David's death. Alisia felt a small weight lift from her chest, the beginnings of healing.

"I know I haven't been the best dad lately," Gram continued, stepping into the room and leaning against the doorframe. "But I'm trying. I want us to be... okay again."

"We will be," Alisia promised, her voice stronger now. "It'll take time, but we'll get there."

They shared a small, tentative smile before Gram pushed himself off the doorframe.

"I'll let you get back to work," he said, giving her a brief nod before leaving her room.

Alisia watched him go, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. For the first time in a long while, it felt like things might actually start getting better between them. She turned back to her laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting her newfound determination.

The next few days passed in a blur of work, but Alisia found herself more outgoing, more willing to engage with the world around her. She spoke more with her dad, joining him for breakfast in the mornings and asking about his day at the store. They weren't quite back to how they used to be, but the distance between them was closing, bit by bit.

Her freelance work also picked up speed. She was getting more and more requests, from website development to smaller cybersecurity consultation jobs. It felt like her life was finally moving in a direction that she had control over, and that gave her a sense of stability she hadn't felt since David's passing.

One evening, after finishing up a project, Alisia decided to take a break and check her email. A new message caught her eye—it was from a potential client, someone looking for help with a major cybersecurity breach.

She clicked on the email, her curiosity piqued. The details were vague, but the client claimed they had a significant security issue with sensitive information being leaked, and they needed someone discreet to handle it.

"Sounds interesting," Alisia muttered to herself, already considering taking the job. It was exactly the kind of challenge she had been craving, something that would push her skills to the limit.

Just as she was about to respond to the email, a loud crash came from downstairs.

Alisia's heart skipped a beat. She jumped out of her chair, rushing down the stairs toward the living room. The sound had come from the front door.

When she reached the living room, her breath caught in her throat.

The front door was wide open, swinging on its hinges. Papers were scattered across the floor, and there was a trail of muddy footprints leading inside. Her eyes darted around the room, but there was no sign of her dad.

"Dad?" she called out, her voice trembling slightly.

No answer.

Fear gripped her as she stepped farther into the room, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. She followed the trail of footprints, her heart pounding in her chest.

They led to the basement door, which was slightly ajar.

Alisia hesitated for a moment, fear gnawing at her. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing the door open, she slowly descended the stairs, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The basement was usually cluttered with old boxes and tools, but tonight it felt different. There was a tension in the air, a sense of dread that made her skin crawl.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw it—her dad, sitting slumped in a chair, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock. Next to him stood a tall, shadowy figure, cloaked in darkness.

Alisia's breath caught in her throat.

The figure turned its head toward her, and a voice, low and cold, echoed through the basement.

"You're too late."