‘I love you Daddy.’ ‘I love you too, Little Girl.’ ‘Someday.’ ‘Yes, my love. Someday.’ ‘You’re right. I’m not ready. I know that... I just wanted something…’ ‘I know — of your own.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m sorry too, Little Girl. But in a few years. It will be a better time.’ You sniffed. I dried your eyes with my handkerchief. You used it to blow your nose. ‘Yes. I know you’re right.’ You took my right hand and held it up, pressing your left hand fingertips against the tips of my fingers. You were. ‘Is that right?’ the old man asks. Spencer continues to stare at the man trying hard to not stare as hard as he wanted to until finally he says, ‘What does it matter?’ ‘It matters a lot. Anger has its uses so long as you know how to channel that anger otherwise it can blind you.’ ‘I know where my focus lies,’ Spencer bites back. ‘Do you?’ ‘Yes,’ he answers through gritted teeth. ‘With whom then?’ the old man asks after taking a sip of tea. Spencer drops his gaze to his untouched cup. His plays. More

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