saw her suck in a tiny breath. “I’m talking about myself. Not you.”
“You sure about that?”
She returned his gaze for several seconds, then sighed. “I’m not questioning your skills, I swear. Or how much you love your kid, because that’s obvious. But …” Frowning, she briefly rubbed the heels of her hands against the chair arms before clutching the ends. “In some respects, I see myself in Jack. At that age, I mean. So I empathize with him. What he’s feeling.”
Curiosity overrode his reaction to her first comment—that she had every right to question his skills, since God knows he did. “You lost your mother, too?”
One side of her mouth hitched up. “The question is if I ever really had her. But my father … yeah. He removed himself from my life when I was a little older than Jack.” Sympathy flooded her eyes. But for whom? “I know
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