My Daughter
"I just made a thousand dollars."
"Came up with a new idea for a book?" Rory asked over the rim of his morning earl grey.
Amy grinned. "Nope. I just bet Thomas the Mets would win the World Series."
"Amy!" he scolded. "That's cheating!"
"Fate stuck me in the past so she'll just have to live with the consequences." Amy stabbed one of her sunnyside up eggs and watched the yolk bleed across to her toast. "Besides, I'm donating it to charity anyway."
Rory's throat closed up midway through his tea when he heard her follow up her last statement with something about missing children. He set his mug down and stared at his plate. "We don't even know when she regenerates. There are so many alleys in New York, Amy."
"And I have so many nights to search them."
"Over and over again?"
"As many times as I have to."
"You're going to make yourself sick."
"I am sick. I've been sick. Ever since the moment she exploded in my arms."
"That wasn't her."
"It was her mind; it was everything that mattered."
