The car door opened.
The man inside stepped out.
The man, over 40 years old, was well-maintained, looking to be only in his early 30s.
He wore light gray casual clothes, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and held a thermos in his hand.
A mature and refined aura surrounded him, born of years gone by.
"Dad!"
Seeing him, Ava Harriman, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly jumped up and ran towards the man.
The man crouched down and caught his daughter securely in his arms, the little girl nestling into their warmth.
In the sweltering summer heat, Martin Harriman's body bore no foul odor of sweat but rather a faintly refreshing scent.
"Good girl."
He held his daughter, raised a hand to rub her head gently, spoke softly, and looked tenderly at her, the very picture of a loving father.
Windsor Harriman also got up and walked over, the family of three standing together in the glow of the setting sun, sharing a warm and peaceful atmosphere.
