"Dad?"

"What is it, Shizuka?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything.  As long as it's not about sex.  Those questions go to your mother."

She laughs, a pretty laugh, but sad.  She's like her name, beautiful, if you can ignore what it means.

"Dad, I probably understand the whole birds and bees thing better than you do at this point."  We roll our eyes conspiratorially at the kitchen, where the woman I'm almost certain I love is working on the taxes.  She insists.  I cook as often as she lets me.  I hate feeling like an accessory, nice to have, but the outfit's complete without it.

"When you sit there like that, what do you see?"

"Sit here like this?"  Oh God, this I'm not ready for, let her ask anything else.  Let her be pregnant rather than ask me this.

"You know, staring at the fireplace.  What do you see in there?"

            How do I explain to my little girl that in the fire I see a world where she couldn't exist?  How do I explain that I'm seeing the half of my soul that's missing?  It's like a phantom ache, but she can't see the missing limb, so how could I explain it?  How can I explain to this beautiful, vibrant teenage girl, this girl who's already suffered far too much, that I'm seeing a world where she was never born?  And if I had had the choice, I'd have gone that way.

            Mia treats me like a 'nam vet, 'he's been through too much, we could never understand', so she doesn't try.  She just lives in my house and sleeps in my bed.  She does my laundry, and scolds me when I pick up after myself.  She's like a maid, who happens to be the mother of my children.  Oh yes, children.  Twins.

I haven't slept with my wife since they were conceived.  She probably doesn't want to impose on me.  So what do I say to my daughter?

"I see my life."

She is wise beyond her years.

"Do we make you that sad?"

            Dearest Shizuka, I wish I could say no.