“Would you like to hold your daughter?”
His throat tightened.
“Which one?”
“Faith.”
The smallest.
The one who had struggled most.
Claire lifted her carefully and placed her in his arms.
Mark stared down at the child.
Faith weighed almost nothing.
Yet somehow she felt heavier than anything he had ever held.
“Hello,” he whispered.
Her fingers moved against his shirt.
Mark began to cry.
Quietly.
Without hiding it.
“I’m your dad.”
Claire looked away, giving him privacy.
Then a floorboard creaked behind him.
Mark froze.
He knew the sound of Emily’s footsteps before he turned.
She stood in the doorway.
Paler than before.
Tired.
One hand resting lightly against the frame.
But standing.
Watching him hold their daughter.
Mark’s mouth opened.
No explanation came.
No rehearsed apology.
Only her name.
“Emily.”
She looked at Faith.
Then at him.
“I wasn’t planning to come downstairs.”
Mark swallowed.
