Chapter 45

• The last time Liana had asked about her dad, Amara was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. The knife fell from between her fingers, hitting the floor. She bent to pick it up, her heart pounding in her chest. The query had come out of the blue, like a bolt of lightning on a bright day.
• "Mommy, where is my daddy?" Liana's tone was subdued, barely more than a whisper, but in that sound lived a thousand untold words.
• Amara dried her hands and pushed away from the sink, crossing the small distance between her and the table to where Liana sat, a wide, round brown stare rising from beneath heavy lids. Liana was an introverted child, mostly absent in some quiet reverie of her own making, but when she spoke, the quality was one almost unearthly for wisdom. At the age of five, she could cut through the bluff of adults, as if she could see the substance of people's souls.