“You look so much like your mother.”
She looked at her reflection. Tried to conjure up her mother’s face. Felt the tears build as she realised that the memories were now a faded photograph.
“In what way?”
The lines around his eyes deepened. “What makes your face yours also made hers, hers. The way you tilt your head when you listen. The way you close your eyes when you drink coffee. That dreamy far away look when you listen to birdsong. You’re very much hers.”
“I’m yours too dad.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “And thank goodness for that.”
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