NICK
Mia’s hand is on my chest, her small palm flat against my sternum with her fingers spread wide like she’s trying to hold as much of me as she can reach. Her eyes are open. She’s not sleeping tonight, just lying against me on the couch watching the ceiling and humming something tuneless while the bond session does its work.
“Daddy?”
The word still undoes me. Every time.
“Yeah?”
“Why is Mama sad?”
“What makes you think she’s sad?”
“She was quiet when she dropped me off. And her eyes were pink. She gets pink eyes when she cries but doesn’t want me to know.”
I press my chin against her curls. They smell like strawberry shampoo from Emily’s bathroom, Emily’s hands working through her hair, and the scent tightens something in my chest.
“Grown-ups have hard days sometimes, sweetheart.”
“Did
