The child’s laughter cut through the air like sunlight through fog—bright, piercing, utterly disarming. I hadn’t heard anything like it in years.
It came from Sofia. My Sofia.
The name echoed through me like a wound reopening and refusing to heal.
From my place beneath the old oak at the edge of the garden, I watched her spin with a paper crown sliding sideways on her curls. The late afternoon sun caught her hair, turning it into gold fire, while frosting smeared her cheeks like battle paint. She was radiant, wild, a creature of joy that didn’t know the world had teeth.
And standing beside her—pretending this was his world—was him, Kevin.
The scent of him didn’t belong here. It was polished and sterile, too perfect, like a man trying to scrub away the stench of guilt. He crouched next
