“Saved your life,” Mia piped up suddenly, marching closer despite his earlier order. Her little chin was set, eyes fierce. “He’s my dad. He fixes chairs and makes pancakes on Saturdays. He’s not scary.”
The woman blinked.
Something in her expression cracked.
She looked at Mia—really looked this time. At the small sneakers half-covered in mud. The tangled curls. The absolute, unwavering trust.
Then she looked back at Jack.