Gritted

“Your daughter?” My jaw dropped. Immediately, my eyes searched for similarities. Did I miss something this whole time? Were there enough hints to figure this out? Could I have drawn such a conclusion solely from the exact shade and hue of their hair and irises? No — that would have been completely unreasonable. Such a feat would have been totally impossible. After all, I was a lousy writer-turned-sleuth who could not help even one beautiful girl find her name. How could I have ever pieced together a truth like this one?

“Then, this whole time, she was the person you wanted to —”

“Salaud!” exclaimed Tremblay’s daughter in a completely foreign tone. “I can’t believe you! Is this how you treat Papa after how much he helped you? You pathetic ingrate.”