Justin stared. The girl looked just like him—same cheekbones, same eyes, same easy smile. She clutched a Harvard diploma. Harvard. His daughter. A graduate from Harvard Law. Justin’s mouth went dry. His hands trembled on the mouse. He blinked, hoping he’d misread it. But the caption said it clearly: “Proud of my girl.”
He scrolled like a man possessed, eyes hungrily devouring every post, every tag. Lucy had raised all girls, all by herself. No mention of a stepfather. Just Lucy and her tribe of girls. Each of them is smiling. Thriving. The weight of his absence pressed down like a boulder.