It's Never Just The Tip

She wore black lace to her father's wedding, smudged eyeliner and silver at her throat, and she looked exactly like the woman I spent twenty years loving in silence.

Vanessa is my best friend's daughter. She has her dead mother's bone structure, her dead mother's eyes, and none of her dead mother's patience.

She knows what I did. She knows who I am. And she's been hunting me since she was old enough to understand why I couldn't stop staring.

I should have said no.

I didn't.