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?”

didn’t say he isn’t,” he mumbled, “just… maybe

softened her tone to barely a whisper. “Whether early or late, he’s still

brushing my hair? Sera never

gazing at the girl’s reflection in the mirror. A pang of nostalgia tugged at him. Back then, when Cherise was this young, she was still a mountain girl, running barefoot

he only knew that after Charisa disappeared, Gwenn was the last connection between him and Charisa in this world,

a lifeline after his wife disappeared,

into someone independent and fearless.

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

unintentionally neglected his real daughter. And now, as he gently brushed

never brushed your mom’s hair when she was little. The old man said.