The sun was streaming into the kitchen, turning the white marble counters into bright sheets of light. I was standing at the stove in just pants and no shirt, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filling the air. I looked like a normal man doing normal things. But in reality, this was my way of making myself feel less guilty after what I did yesterday.
But even as I flipped the eggs, I was anticipating something: the sound of Angel’s feet approaching the dining area.
Then I heard it. The soft, rhythmic pat-pat-pat of bare feet on the hardwood.
"Good morning, Daddy," the sweet voice whispered from right behind my ear.
I turned my head slightly. Angel was standing there, dressed for school. She was wearing a tiny black pleated skirt that barely covered her thighs and a crisp whit
