Hunter stood behind the living room window. From there, he could see Olivia in the backyard, sitting on a wooden bench while tying Eliana’s hair. The little girl laughed cheerfully, occasionally running across the grass, trying to catch the fluttering butterflies.
Hunter held his coffee cup, though he didn’t drink from it. His gaze was fixed on that tiny figure—his daughter. Eliana Jackson. A little girl who shared his blood, yet didn’t even know who he was.
“I should’ve been there from the start,” he whispered.
He watched the way Olivia stroked Eliana’s head, with such tenderness and patience. The child was clearly close to her mother. But to him? There was no space.
When Eliana was born, Hunter wasn’t even at the hospital. He was too busy with Shopia—partying, drinking, and abandonin
