Dad comes home from work covered in bruises. He stumbles into the kitchen just as Mom and I are finishing up dinner.

“Ella, be careful,” she says as I leap from my chair, almost knocking it over in the process.

I throw my arms around Dad's leg and squeeze. He winces. “That's a nice grip y'got there, tiger,” he says, carefully prying me off. He strips his mask away with a grunt and hands it to me. I grin up at him, holding it in place.

“Think I can be a superhero like you, Daddy?”

I mistake his grimace for a smile. “Maybe,” he says, ruffling my hair.

“There's leftovers in the fridge,” Mom says without looking at him. “Ella, let's go brush your teeth. It's bed time.”

As I follow her up the stairs, I cast a look over my shoulder at my dad, eating alone at the table. His hand shakes as he brings a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his mouth. He seems older somehow. I wonder how long his hair has been falling out.