Then he noticed the cleft in her chin.
Every bit of color drained from his face.
“Grandpa?”
His hands began to shake.
I moved closer.
“Are you okay?”
He looked at me.
“Claire…”
His voice sounded so strange that a chill ran down my spine.
“What?”
“Who is her father?”
I gave a nervous laugh.
“You know who her father is.”
“Tell me his name.”
I stopped smiling.
“Julian.”
Grandpa closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were filled with something I had never seen there before.
Fear.
“And Julian’s father?”
“What?”
“What’s his father’s name?”
I searched my memory.
“Richard, I think. Richard Carter.”
Grandpa slowly lowered himself into the rocking chair.
Then, holding my daughter against his chest, he whispered one word.
“No.”
