When you have a child with someone, you brace yourself for the ways they will carry that person — the temper, the laugh, the shape of a hand.

You do not brace for the way the beloved feature and the dangerous inheritance can be the identical thing.

Brucie’s eyes were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and the most perilous mark she could have been born with, at the very same time, in the very same glance.

I would spend the coming hour learning to see them as the second thing, the threat, the brand that could bring a ruthless family down on us.

And I would spend the rest of my life, I hoped, teaching myself and teaching her to see them again as the first thing — as simply hers, simply lovely, a gift and not a warning.