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Chapter 63: The Bunker (3)
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... f with bodies, which cannot hold its splinters.
––Eriksson Lennard
I hold her small hand in mine as if that act alone could make me a better man. She is not my daughter. She will never be her. It’s only now that I finally accept it. Her red lips are nothing like the ones my wife passed down to our child. No birthmark on her neck to echo the one I bore as a boy. Her hair will never catch the light in that same autumnal blaze, never burn with that particular hue. Her eyes will neve ...
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