“Already on it,” I’d said, pausing in the kitchen doorway to watch her work. “One doll, ridiculously expensive, potentially hideous, and definitely sparkly. I’ve got it covered.”
Jess had laughed at that, but looking back now, I realized the sound hadn’t quite reached her eyes. There’d been something strained around the edges of her smile.
Evie had been sitting at our small dining table with her duck clutched in one hand and a purple crayon in the other, humming along tunelessly with whatever song was playing. When she’d noticed me watching, she’d looked up, cocked her head to the side in that way that made my chest ache with love, and beamed.
“Daddy, make sure she has REAL wings that actually look like they could fly!”
“I wouldn’t dare disappoint you, baby girl,” I’d said, tapping my prosthetic leg twice with my knuckles—a habit I’d developed to wake up the nerve endings before walking—before heading toward the door. “I’ll be back in an hour, maybe less.”
