where knees cracked, backs complained, and sleeping in the wrong position could ruin an entire morning.
But something felt different that night.
I stayed silent beneath the covers and listened.
Then I heard his voice downstairs.
Soft.
Tender.
Almost soothing.
It was the same voice he’d used decades ago when Michael or Emma woke crying from nightmares.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
My grip tightened around the edge of the sheet.
Then came the sentence that made my entire body go cold.
“Daddy loves you too.”
I stared into the darkness.
Our
