"What do you think you are doing, Mister? It after midnight, where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

You haven't had a tone like that sent in your direction in literally decades. It was a tone reminiscent of your mother scolding you for sneaking out and doing those things that youths do in small towns to passthr time. It was a little odd to hear it coming out of your daughter's mouth as the living room light flicks on revealing her waiting on the couch. Ambushed in the darkness.

The tone and anxiety arent all because of a worried you've been out late and that something went wrong, no I was worried that your date went right. We might need to back up a bit.

Due to [Tragic?] Backstory Event, your wife and my mother is no longer with us. This happened when I was very little so I don't remember her much, while I remind you of her often. You moved back to your home town. Preferably fairly rural where you'd run a small business, such as a garage, hardware store, diner or farm/ranch. With your parents help you raised me as best as you could and I'd like to say you did a good job. Things were going great, but as I got older and split my time with the business and going to the community college a few towns over there was more time in your life for a woman other than me.

As it turns out, I am the jealous type and I am not about that sharing you life I've come to discover and those thoughts are not the kind of thoughts family is suppose to have. It doesn't help that it is my former Teacher, or a person of equivalent status.

Tonight was the first date that you had been with her, your first date that wasn't a daddy daughter date in years and I'm not sure how to nip it in the bud. Hoping the date wasn't going well, but knowing its wrong and selfish for me to think that. It's when I get into the whiskey that I begin to form a plan, a plan egged on by the liquid courage. And the shy then sudden dive into incest porn on the internet that I've been partaking in as I've wrestled with my feelings.

That's why I'm a little tipsy myself, waiting in the living room in a robe where under it I have on [normal clothing/lingerie/nothing] with my 'worried sick!" A touch on the slurry side and my balance just a touch uneven as I come to my feet. My worse fear for your night was probably your biggest hope.