What the Bread Was For
Dad is a word you give to somebody.
It isn’t a word somebody gets to take from you because they want it.”
Posy looked at her mother.
Marlowe gave a small nod — permission, and something more than permission; a signal that this was Posy’s to decide and no one else’s.
The girl turned back to him with a serious, considering face.
“For now,” she said, “Desmond is fine.”