"Elena," she says carefully. "Remember what we talked about? Lupo isn't—"
"I know," Elena says, but she doesn't let go of my legs. "But can I call him Daddy anyway? Just sometimes?” She smiles up at me, so happy I’m home. “Lupo, can I call you Daddy sometimes?"
My throat feels tight. I crouch down to her level, looking her in the eyes.
"You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart."
She throws her arms around my neck, and I hold her close, breathing in the scent of dirt and sunshine. Over her head, I meet Isabella's gaze. There are tears in her eyes.
"Okay, baby," she says, her voice thick. "If Lupo says it's okay, then it's okay."
Elena pulls back, grinning. "You’re the best daddy ever."
I've killed people. I killed her biological father. I'm living a lie, pretending to be someone I'm not.
And a three-year-old just called me the best daddy ever.
I should tell her the truth. Should explain that I'm not her father. That her real father is dead in a ravine and I'm the one who put him there.
But I don't.
Because the truth would hurt her. Would take away the happiness I see in her eyes right now.
And I'd do anything to protect that happiness.
"Come on," I say, standing and taking her hand. "Let's go help Mama finish in the garden."
We work together as the sun sets. Elena more hindrance than help, but her presence makes everything better. When we're done, we head inside to wash up for dinner.
This is what normal people do. Normal families.
And for tonight, I get to pretend that's what we are.
Dinner is simple but good. Pasta with vegetables from the garden, bread, water. We can't afford wine, but I don't miss it.
After dinner, Elena asks me to read her a story. I do, making voices for all the characters until she's giggling so hard she can barely breathe.
"Again!" she demands when I finish.
"One more," Isabella says from the doorway. "Then bed."
I read it again. And then it's time for sleep.
"Goodnight, Daddy," Elena says as I tuck her in.
The word still sends a shock through me. But I'm getting used to it and starting to like it.
"Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams."
"I love you." She says it casually. So easily. Like it's the simplest truth in the world.
I freeze, unsure how to respond. Do I say it back? Should I?
Isabella appears beside me, saving me. "We love you too, baby. Now go to sleep."
We.
She included me in that we so naturally I almost missed it.
