When Catherine Grant was born, her soulmate was already there.
Waiting for her somewhere.
There are moments a man - a father - can't forget.
The punch in his gut at the words
. The excited panic of a
. The knot in his throat before the
. The feeling in his chest when he finally, finally, holds her and
And she's so little, so pink and fragile and falling in love with her it's in his genes.
And Mr Grant, would never forget those moments. But they're barely the start. And he's looking forward the nexts.
First steps. First words. Even the first
But he doesn't have to wait long, before the thing he was anticipating the most, happens.
He watches, transfixed, as blotches of beautiful colors appear on her chubby hands. Blue, red, yellow. As if the newborn herself has just dipped her little fists in paint.
He knows what it means.
And he cries, holding her to his chest, playing with the colored fingers as deep-rooted fears gently eradicate from the pieces of his soul he has ignored for years.
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