Dominic’s POVThe drive to Penelope’s house was like torture. Debbie sat in the back seat with her arms crossed, staring out the window with the kind of stubborn silence that meant I’d really screwed up this time.“We’re here, sweetheart,” I said as we pulled into the driveway.She didn’t respond. Just unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her school bag, and climbed out like I’d personally destroyed her favorite toy. Which, in a way, I had—her time with Alexander had become the brightest part of her week.“Debbie—”The car door slammed shut.I watched her march up the front steps, small shoulders rigid with hurt. Six years old and already learning that adults broke promises, that family meant disappointment wrapped in complicated explanations she was too young to understand.The front door opened before she could knock.“There’s my girl!” Penelope appeared, pulling Debbie into a fierce hug, but over our daughter’s red curls, her green eyes found mine with a look that could have melted steel
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