[He's silent for a long moment. Almost long enough that she would be forgiven for assuming he somehow didn't hear her.]

...My daughter. Johanna. She was only a year old, when...

[He takes a deep breath of fresh air and holds it in his chest.]

Last week I remembered when she was born. Holding her for the first time, holding her every night in my arms. Her skin was as soft and smooth as ripe peaches. She had little curls of blonde hair, nearly white, and she smiled like an angel... Lucy teased me. Said I was spoiling her. But how could I live with myself, if I didn't hold her every second I could?

I couldn't believe that something so perfect could be mine.