“Chase,” she whispered, her voice a rattle.
My stomach clenched. “Do you want me to call him?”
“No,” she wheezed, squeezing my hand with surprising strength. “Never him. You. You are her father. Promise me.”“I promise,” I choked out.
“Take care of my baby,” she said, her eyes drifting to the window where the moon hung low. “You’re the father she deserves. Protect her from him. He’s… he’s hollow, Arthur. Don’t let him break her.”
And I did. I adopted Grace officially six months later. The judge banged the gavel, and we went for ice cream. It was just the two of us against the world.
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