I rolled over, buried my face in the pillow, and sighed.Joe smacked his lips in his sleep and murmured, "Daddy..."I had no words.Little traitor.In the days that followed, Brooklyn never pressed for an answer. But he came to see me every day.Every morning, I woke to flowers by my bed. Violets one day, wild roses the next, lilies of the valley still wet with dew after that.Breakfast waited on the table, still warm. Joe's bowl always held a treat: honey cake, a blueberry muffin, something new each day.Once he'd finished the family's morning business, Brooklyn came by.He rarely said much. He sat by the window with his papers, glancing up now and then to watch us play.Joe was entirely won over. The moment he saw Brooklyn, he'd run to him, little legs pumping, and call him Daddy.I told him not to. Brooklyn wasn't his father.But he was too clever for his age. "If Mama marries Daddy, then he'll be my daddy, right? So when will Mama say yes?"Then they both stared at me.My face hot,
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