“Bonjour, papa!” “Hello, Bea,” he murmurs in English. This is what he does every night, except tonight, he falters on his way out the door. Then, for the first time since I’ve worked here, he smiles at his daughter. It’s a soft, affectionate smile, but it’s enough to set my heart on fire with hope. His eyes find mine. Neither of us says a word to each other, but we share a small, silent connection before he eventually turns away and marches out the door.
