Daryl's POV

"D-Daddy?"

I turn around, seeing two little children, no more than eight or nine years old, huddled in the corner of a dirty house. They look like twins; both have blue eyes, curly dark brown hair, and freckles. Everything around us is dark and menacing, and the kids' watery eyes stare at me in horror. The boy has a black eye, his sister clinging to him in fright. It scares me just how much she looks like Hope.

"Why, daddy?" she whispers, trembling. "Why?"

"Why what? What did I do?" I ask, my voice shaking.

The boy gulps, wiping his tears from his eyes as his sister looks away from me, burying her face in her brother's shoulder. Only then do I realize that they're both wearing tattered clothes and have dark bruises dotting their arms and legs. The boy's shirt is torn open, and I can see dark whip scars lining his chest.

I gave him those, I think immediately, guilt coursing through my heart.

The boy points a shaky finger to my hand, and I feel my blood run cold when I look down. One holds a belt, looped tightly around my hand in the same way my dad once did for me. The other holds an empty beer bottle, the bottom shattered.

"You're just like grandpa," the girl whimpers, the cuts on her face bleeding.

"No...no, I ain't," I mumble, not wanting to believe it.

I'm not an alcoholic, I don't abuse my kids...this ain't-

"Where's your momma?" I ask, an air of desperation in my tone.

"Right here, but not for long," a familiar voice says behind me.

I spin around, seeing Hope standing at a distance from me. It's her, but it's not. Her beautiful dark curls have been chopped off into an unflattering, choppy pixie cut, like she'd done it herself. Her eyes are dull and fear-filled, dark circles underneath them. Her arms are just as bruised as those of the children behind me, our children.

I take a step towards her, holding my hand out as I drop the belt. "Hope? Darlin', what's-"

She pulls out a gun, aiming it at me as her hands shake. Her eyes well up with tears as her cut and swollen lips tremble. I raise my hands in surrender, shocked.

"Don't touch me," she says, her voice breaking. "Please. You're not the man I fell in love with."

"Hope..."

"I told you. I'm taking the kids, and we're going back to Canada," she continues, her finger twitching slightly on the trigger. "Without you."

My mouth falls open and I feel my heart shatter into pieces. "Angel, I don't understand what I did..."

"What didn't you do?" she snaps, tears trickling down her face. "First the drinking, then the late nights with other women, and then the...the abuse!" She squeezes her eyes shut and looks away, not yet lowering the gun.

I stumble backwards, overwhelmed. Everything my dad did, everything I came to resent so much...

I became him. I'm not the father I thought I'd be.

"Theo, Melody, come on," she says hoarsely, her tears streaking her face. "I'm going to make sure you're safe."

The two kids scramble to her, clinging to her dirty clothes and staring at me like I'm Satan reincarnate. Theo makes sure to stand in front of his sister and his mother, protecting them from me. Still, the fear in his eyes is the same I used to see when I was younger, and the idea that I'm the one causing my son's, my daughter's, and my wife's pain kills me inside.

"Hope, Theo, Mel...I didn't mean any of that," I plead, moving towards them again.

I reach out to touch Hope's face, but she flinches away and presses the gun barrel to my chest.

"Please..." she whispers. "Don't make me do this."

"Hope-"

That's the last thing I see before the shot goes off.

I wake with a start, covered in a cold sweat. Hope sleeps on her side, undisturbed by my abrupt awakening. I lean forwards, panting a little as I rest my face in my hands. It wasn't real, but I couldn't help but feel like it was. It had all been so...

Terrifying.

Hope stirs lightly, a small smile on her face. She's bruise free and content, her long curls still pulled back in the ponytail she always sleeps in. I push the blanket off of me and trudge downstairs, unable to even think about going back to sleep.

I go to the bathroom and switch on the light, staring at myself in the mirror. I have circles under my eyes, my scruffy beard remains untamed as per usual, and my shaggy hair is messy with bedhead. My mind's eye flashes with the terrified looks of my family, and I cripple, holding my forehead as I grit my teeth.

Slowly, I pull the t-shirt I wear with my plaid pyjama pants off, turning around and looking at my back in the mirror. There's my tattoo, surrounded by dark scars from years and years of abuse that I suffered.

I look away, disgusted with myself. If I ever become like the man in my nightmare, the man my dad was, I hope Hope does have the guts to shoot me.

If she's going to have to kill anyone, I hope that her first victim is me.

Suddenly, I hear a small yawn. I look to the door, where a very sleepy looking Hope stands. She's wrapped a housecoat around her body, where the cartoon pyjamas I grabbed for her on a run can be seen past the simple black material. Her stomach protrudes out from her body noticeably, and just thinking of children makes my stomach twist.

She blinks, getting used to the light. Another yawn stretches her face briefly.

"So...why are you standing in the bathroom, shirtless, at three am?" she asks sleepily.

"Nothin'. Go back to bed," I say immediately.

She stops blinking as she gets used to the light. "Your nothing never actually means nothing."

I look away from her, tears itching at my eyes. I clamp my mouth shut, afraid that if I speak, I'll start bawling like a baby again.

"Daryl?" she asks, her voice soft.

"I...I..." My voice breaks and the tears start coming. I'm powerless to stop them, and the concern that appears on Hope's face is instant.

"Daryl, what's wrong? Please talk to me," she pleads, moving to stand in front of me and resting her hand against my scarred chest.

"I just don't wanna be the dumbass my dad was," I manage to say, feeling like my chest is constricting more and more with every word.

She steps to my side, allowing her to hug me closely without her stomach getting in the way. I wrap my arms around her, taking deep breaths and calming myself down.

"You're going to be fine. Our baby is going to love you, and you're going to love him or her. Just you wait," she comforts.

"The dream...it was so real," I whisper hoarsely.

She leans up and kisses my cheek. "But it isn't going to become reality. You're ten times the man your father was."

I rest my forehead against the top of her head, breathing in the clean scent of her hair. My tears dry, and I clear my throat.

"Just...don't be givin' yourself a bad pixie cut anytime soon, a'ight?" I ask softly.

She laughs, making me feel better almost instantly.

"Don't worry. The curls are here to stay," she promises. "Come on, you need more sleep before tomorrow."

I nod. "A'ight angel. Whatever you say."

I retrieve my shirt, pulling it back on and moving back to our bedroom. Hope follows, climbing into bed and laying down on her side. I get onto my side of the mattress, scooting over and gently wrapping my arms around her middle, my hands resting over top of the large bump.

"Love ya," I mumble as I shut my eyes.

"Love you too," she responds, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

It's a smile that I never want to fade away.