Jonah’s POV

I watch as the taillights vanish around the bend, carrying away my wife and my daughter.

My daughter.

The term lodges itself in my chest like a jagged shard, cutting deeper with every thought. Lyra. The little girl who shares my blood but doesn’t even know my name. To her, I’m just “the nice man,” some anonymous figure, while another man drives her home, tucks her in at night, and reads her bedtime stories.

Those are ...