Myra’s world was painted in bright colors. Mine was shades of guilt and ash.
“You’re very kind,” I murmured, kissing her curls.
She giggled and leaned closer. “You smell like rain.”
“Do I?” I smiled faintly. “That’s a good thing, I hope.”
She nodded solemnly. “Rain makes things grow again.”
Her words struck deeper than they should have.
When the nurse left to fetch clean linens, Myra’s expression turned serious. Her fingers played with the candy wrapper.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, little star.”
“Why didn’t the doctor aunty talk much? She only said a few words.”
Her question stilled me. I met her gaze, careful. “Sometimes people have reasons for being quiet,” I said. “Secrets, maybe. Or pain that makes speaking harder.”
Myra tilted her head. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like talking.”
Her sim
