Marrying the Man in the Dark

Sunlight danced across the gold–trimmed furniture of the luxurious suite, catching in the golden strands of Serafina’s hair as Beckham patiently combed them. “Come on, I want Pigtails, Grandpa!”

Her voice was as bright as the diamonds on her tiny fingers, “Pigtails are so cute! Mommy and Daddy will love them!”

But before Beckham could agree, a small voice cut in, a hint of disapproval lacing in its childish tone. “Not yet, Sera,”

Soren said, his brow furrowed. “He’s not our Daddy… yet. Calling him that now might make him a bit too full of himself.”

Serafina’s face fell, her bottom lip trembling. “But he is! Grandpa said so, he even guaranteed!”

Beckham smiled, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Serafine spun towards Soren, her eyes, like dark jewels, locking on his. “Look in the mirror, mister! You’re practically Daddy’s twin! If he’s not our Daddy, then who is?”

he isn’t,” he mumbled, “just…

barely a whisper. “Whether early or

you brushing my hair? Sera never knew

pang of nostalgia tugged at him. Back then, when Cherise was this young, she was still a mountain girl, running barefoot

that Gwenn wasn’t his biological daughter; he only knew that after Charisa disappeared, Gwenn was the last connection between him and Charisa in this world, an existence he couldn’t give up or

Beckham didn’t know Gwenn wasn’t his biological daughter. She was like a lifeline after his wife disappeared, the last piece of

his love into Gwenn, raising her into someone independent and fearless. Perhaps this

that he convinced himself blood didn’t matter, that their bend, stronger than family, would

in cherishing Gwenn, that he’d unintentionally neglected his real daughter. And now, as he gently brushed Sera’s hair, remembering his first

sweetheart, I never brushed your mom’s hair when she was little. The old man