“Here I was, thinking you had a real father in Randall Silago and didn’t have any need of me whatsoever.” She nearly dropped her plate. “Are you—are you jealous of Randall?” His face was like stone, but his voice hoarsened as he said, “He got your mother in the end. And got to raise you.” “That sounds awfully close to regret.” “I have already told you: I live with that regret every day.” He surveyed her, the plate of food in her hands. “But perhaps we might eventually move past it.” He added after a moment, “Bryce.”
