I keep staring at the monitors, staring hungrily at the dark-haired temptation I can’t seem to get off mymind.
She seems so far from me right now.
And I’m not talking in terms of physical distance, either.
It seems everything I’ve come to consider important is out of my reach.
Even thinking my daughter’s name sends a wave of rage rippling through me.
Except the rage hides a deeper emotion that refuses to show its face fully.
A more painful one. One I can’t fully process.
So I suppress it under the emotions I’m better equipped to deal with.
I know what to do with rage. I can channel it somewhere useful. I can make it work for me instead ofthe other way around.
The other stuff? Not so much.
On the screen, Charlotte twirls around in the middle of her tiny kitchen. She almost upends
