“Please don’t drink it because you always look so tired and sick after you finish the juice,” Daisy pleaded as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Miles stared at her with a stunned expression, his mind reeling not just from her warning, but from the fact that she had addressed him as her father.
“Why did you call me that, little girl?” Miles asked in a raspy voice as he looked between the crying child and the woman who was supposedly his savior. Daisy shook her head because she didn’t have a logical answer, but she instinctively rushed forward and knocked the glass out of his hand.
The juice splattered across the expensive rug and the glass shattered into a hundred jagged pieces as Bridget let out a scream of absolute fury. “I want this brat out of my house right this second!” Bridget yelled, but Miles was no longer listening to her frantic demands for order.
He looked at Daisy’s eyes and saw a reflection of his own features, recognizing an expression that felt like a bridge to a part of his life he thought he had lost. “Open the locked box in the kitchen, Bridget,” Miles commanded with a newfound strength in his voice that made the woman turn deathly pale.