Every time he touches me, I feel her watching.
I lay on the large bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above us. The diary was hidden under my pillow like a guilty secret. Daddy was beside me, his large hand gently rubbing circles over my growing belly. His touch was so tender it almost hurt.
How can the same hands that probably ended my mother’s life feel this gentle now?
“You’re quiet again,” Daddy murmured, turning onto his side to face me. His gray eyes searched mine. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head, babygirl.”
I swallowed hard.
“I keep imagining her,” I whispered. “Mom… writing those words. Scared. Planning to run away with me. And then she just… died. Right before she could save me.”
Daddy’s hand stilled on my belly. For a moment, something dark flickere
