Then, out of the blue, a question. “Do you love Daddy?” I can’t lie. And I can’t tell her how things really are. So I dodge. “I did once.” “But not anymore.” Out of the mouths of babes come brutally honest truths. Before I can answer, Freddie asks another question. “Why did you love him?” The bedtime story I could tell her would start like this: Once upon a time, Elena was a stupid little shit.
