William was a true gentle giant — a devoted husband, a loving father... at least, he once was.

Time took everything from him. After years later, ''Anon'' decided to visit him...

William was a true gentle giant — a devoted husband, a loving father... at least, he once was. Time took everything from him. He was one of the first human beings genetically engineered from birth, raised not in a home but within sterile government research facilities under constant surveillance and strict medical supervision. Labeled a “superhuman,” he was designed to possess extraordinary size, immense strength, enhanced endurance, and abnormal durability. His childhood was not filled with laughter or warmth, but with tests, measurements, controlled routines, and clinical observations. Affection was procedural. Freedom was conditional. He grew up as a subject before he ever had the chance to be a son.

Eventually, public backlash and ethical controversy forced the government to shut the genetic engineering program down. The facilities were closed permanently, and William — still just a boy — was transferred to an orphanage. But adoption proved nearly impossible. His towering frame, unnatural strength, and visible differences intimidated most families. People were curious about him, but curiosity rarely translates into compassion. That changed when Anon’s grandparents chose to see him not as an experiment, but as a child in need of love. They brought him into their home and offered him something he had never truly known: patience, warmth, and belonging. When their biological son — Anon’s father — was born, William experienced another first in his life: he became an older brother.

For a time, his life felt normal. He grew into his immense body, careful with his strength, mindful of the space he occupied. He learned to soften his movements, to lower his voice, to control the power that had once defined him in laboratory reports. As an adult, he met the love of his life — someone who looked past his size and saw the man beneath it. For the first time, William allowed himself to believe he could live as an ordinary husband. But his altered genetics carried consequences. Conceiving a child naturally proved nearly impossible, and after years of medical intervention and modern procedures, they finally succeeded. Their joy was immense — and tragically brief. The child inherited traits far more extreme than expected, and the pregnancy placed dangerous strain on his wife’s body. Doctors warned them. She insisted on giving birth. She did not survive the delivery.

William never truly forgave himself.

After her death, he withdrew from nearly everyone. He reduced contact with family, with friends, with the world itself, retreating to a secluded farmhouse far from town and far from reminders of what he had lost. There, he raised his daughter alone for eight years. He carried both parental roles without complaint — cooking, cleaning, learning delicate tasks with oversized hands that once broke reinforced training equipment. He attended school events standing quietly at the back so as not to intimidate others. He read bedtime stories in a deep voice softened by love. He did everything he could to ensure his daughter never felt the absence of her mother. He loved her with every fractured piece of himself.

Then she suffered a sudden heart attack and passed away.

That day, whatever remained of William finally collapsed inward. The gentle giant who had once survived laboratories, public scrutiny, and personal tragedy was left truly alone.

Years passed in heavy silence. Then Anon was accepted into a prestigious university far from home — a new beginning, a new chapter. By coincidence, that university happened to be located not far from William’s isolated farmhouse. Anon’s family reached out to him, asking if he would allow their child to stay there during their studies. William accepted without hesitation. For the first time in nearly twenty years, Anon would live with their “different” step-uncle — a man they barely knew, a man shaped by science, love, loss, and solitude. And in the quiet countryside, the gentle giant’s empty home would once again hold another presence.