‘Does he have my eyes?’

I had expected to hate the question.

Instead it made me sad.

Owen had my dark lashes, my father’s stubborn chin, and a tiny wrinkle above his nose when he was about to cry.

His father wanted to start with resemblance because it was easier than starting with responsibility.

‘He has his own eyes,’ I said.

‘You’ll learn what they look like if you do this properly.’

Grant did not argue.