I hold up my hand to silence him, studying my daughter’s expression and trying to gauge her reaction.
Mira is silent as she looks at Darian. Both he and I stand there, holding our breath. Then she says, “You’re pretty.”
Darian’s hand tightens around mine, and I glance at him when he lets out a teary laugh. “Your mom used to say the same thing.”
“Are you really my dad?” Mira asks cautiously. “I thought I didn’t have one.”
I feel troubled. “I didn’t know you wondered about your father, Mira. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
She shrugs, gazing at Darian with unveiled fascination. “My friend has a dad, but he lives far away. He comes to see her sometimes. I thought if I waited, my dad would also come to see me.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, my stomach twisting at her innocent wo
