“We all make mistakes about duty,” I said.

He turned his head toward the children’s corner.

Lucia was watching him, the yellow crayon held suspended over her paper.

“Does she know?” Dominic asked quietly.

“She knows you’re her father,” I said. “I told her the truth.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tight as he fought his emotions.

“Can I talk to her?” he asked.

I walked out from behind the counter, my shoes clicking softly on the floor.

“You have to earn her trust, Dominic,” I said. “It won’t happen today. Or tomorrow.”

“I have time,” he said. “All the time in the world.”

I guided him toward the small table, my hand lightly touching his sleeve before letting go.

He sat down on one of the tiny wooden chairs, looking absurdly large in the children’s section.

Lucia watched him, her head tilted.

“Are you going to color?” she asked.

Dominic smiled, a genuine, soft expression I hadn’t seen on his face in five years.

“If you have a blue crayon,” he said.

She searched through her plastic box and handed him a blunt, paperless blue stub.