“Her name was Emma,” he said quietly. “My daughter.”
She danced before she could talk.
He missed recitals for meetings. Business trips. Conference calls. Always something else.
“She got sick,” he said. “Fast. Aggressive.”
He missed her second-to-last recital because he was in Tokyo closing a deal.
He told himself he’d make the next one up to her somehow.
There wasn’t a next one.
He looked past me at Lily.
“The night before she died, I promised I’d show up for someone else’s kid if their dad was fighting to be there.”
He huffed a broken laugh.
