“Daddy’s home,” he said into her ruffled hair. “Not leaving again. Never leaving you again, I promise, Annabel.” The small child nodded, snatching his promise from the air, pressing her hand to his mouth. Charlie blew a loud raspberry against it. “Daddy, ’top it. Come see my baby.” She pointed a stubby finger back toward the camera. Back toward her eighteen-year-old self, sitting on the living room floor, watching. The screen went dark.
