daughter
question: Who was part of the discussion about the father's absence?, context: “It isn’t him, though,” I said gently. “I was mistaken.” I immediately regretted saying anything. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She nestled into me, her head still turned in his direction. I longed to give her the world. The man packed up his minivan and drove off, and my alternate reality went right along with him. We climbed into the car and I pulled out. All the talks my daughter and I had had over the years about her father’s absence swirled around us, filling the car like plumes of smoke from a freshly lit fire. I had always chosen my words carefully, conscious that one person’s perception can so easily be woven into another person’s foundation, forever obscuring an impartial truth.
Who was part of the discussion about the father's absence?
All the talks my daughter and I had had over the years about her father’s absence swirled around us, filling the car like plumes of smoke from a freshly lit fire.
“It isn’t him, though,” I said gently. “I was mistaken.” I immediately regretted saying anything. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She nestled into me, her head still turned in his direction. I longed to give her the world. The man packed up his minivan and drove off, and my alternate reality went right along with him. We climbed into the car and I pulled out. All the talks my daughter and I had had over the years about her father’s absence swirled around us, filling the car like plumes of smoke from a freshly lit fire. I had always chosen my words carefully, conscious that one person’s perception can so easily be woven into another person’s foundation, forever obscuring an impartial truth.
All the talks my <hl> daughter <hl> and I had had over the years about her father’s absence swirled around us, filling the car like plumes of smoke from a freshly lit fire.
“It isn’t him, though,” I said gently. “I was mistaken.” I immediately regretted saying anything. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She nestled into me, her head still turned in his direction. I longed to give her the world. The man packed up his minivan and drove off, and my alternate reality went right along with him. We climbed into the car and I pulled out. All the talks my <hl> daughter <hl> and I had had over the years about her father’s absence swirled around us, filling the car like plumes of smoke from a freshly lit fire. I had always chosen my words carefully, conscious that one person’s perception can so easily be woven into another person’s foundation, forever obscuring an impartial truth.
“It isn’t him, though,” I said gently. “I was mistaken.” I immediately regretted saying anything. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She nestled into me, her head still turned in his direction. I longed to give her the world. The man packed up his minivan and drove off, and my alternate reality went right along with him. We climbed into the car and I pulled out. <hl> All the talks my daughter and I had had over the years about her father’s absence swirled around us, filling the car like plumes of smoke from a freshly lit fire. <hl> I had always chosen my words carefully, conscious that one person’s perception can so easily be woven into another person’s foundation, forever obscuring an impartial truth.