Nothing had ever stirred him to action so quickly as that single, wavering syllable. It was absurd, but somehow, it seemed Nate’s ears had been tuned to the exact decibel of Tess’s cry. Her small voice was louder than the children’s laughter, louder than the barking dogs. It was louder than his recalcitrant doubts. Nate pivoted sharply, rerouting to the garden. “My little girl is afraid of dogs.”
AGAHSHSHDH
