Page 179 of Merciless Daddy

“For a while,” I agreed.

She looked down.

“Thank you,” I said. “For telling me.”

Her eyes searched mine.

“You’re not angry?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“I am angry at the men who taught you that love must be purchased with your disappearance.”

Her mouth trembled.

“But not at you,” I said. “Never for being afraid.”

I kissed her forehead.

Then I got her off the floor.

The soup had gone cold, so I took her to the kitchen. I warmed it myself. Added fresh bread. Cut it into pieces because she looked too tired to manage anything that required effort.

She sat on the counter in her pajamas while I stood between her knees.

“Open,” I said.

She gave me a glare with no force behind it.

“I can feed myself.”

“I know.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“Sometimes, Daddies are annoying.”

“Daddy!”

“Open.”

She opened her mouth.

I gave her a piece of bread first. Then a spoonful of soup. Warm tomato, beans, garlic, olive oil. Delicous food, but simple enough to settle her stomach.

She swallowed.

“Again,” I said.

By the fifth spoonful, some color had returned to her face.

By the tenth, she leaned against my shoulder between bites.

“Now,” I said, “we talk about what you can do tomorrow.”

Her eyes narrowed.