"That isn't what it sounds like."
"Then explain it."
He was silent for several seconds.
Finally, he said:
"Dr. Ellis contacted me last year."
"Why?"
"Because she knew about your original treatment. She claimed the old research records might help us develop a surgical plan to restore your sight."
I gripped my phone.
"And Lily?"
Nigel's voice trembled.
"She asked whether our children had inherited certain corneal characteristics."
My stomach twisted.
"You gave her access to our daughter?"
"I agreed to a noninvasive screening. I thought it might help us understand your condition."
"Without asking me?"
He didn't answer.
"Nigel, she's my daughter."
"I know."
"You should have told me."
"I was afraid you'd refuse."
The words struck me harder than anything else he could have said.
Because they were exactly the kind of words my father might have used twenty years earlier.
I was afraid.
I thought it would help.
