“It’s too important. You don’t forget having a dad.” Bree’s eyes slid sideways, the blue of them no more than a spark in the firelight. “I thought … you were so young. You do remember your father?” Roger shook his head, the chambers of his heart clenching hard, grasping emptiness. “No,” he said softly, and bent his head, breathing in the scent of his daughter’s hair. “I remember yours.”
