He held a glass of wine in front of him like a shield, his posture disciplined, his shoulders straight, his smile perfectly practiced, which never quite reached his eyes.
“She is our mother,” whispered the first little girl.
“Her name is Evelyn Carter.”
“He works at the hospital,” said the other.
“Many long shifts.”
“Yet he reads aloud to us, even when he can barely keep his eyes open,” the third added softly.
“Nobody talks to him at parties.”
As if summoned by the weight of their gaze, Evelyn turned.
His gaze fell on his daughters, who were standing next to a stranger, and his face suddenly showed surprise, alarm, and the familiar resignation that suggested this wasn’t the first unexpected situation he had had to deal with alone.
He put down his glass and came closer, the tap of his heels on the floor like the ticking of a clock.
Jonathan had fifteen seconds to decide.
He thought of Mara, who always told him that survival was not the same as life, and that even the smallest step towards joy was courage.
He looked at the little girls, their identical faces clearly showing fragile hope.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
“But I need your names.”
Their faces lit up, as if someone had turned on the brightest chandelier in the room.
“I’m Lily,” said the first.
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