"I'm off to cook," Jones finally said, his gaze dropping as he headed towards the kitchen.
A pang of sympathy hit me, coupled with a sense of guilt.
Damon, however, seemed oblivious to the emotional undercurrents between Jones and myself. He was absorbed in studying Serena's face, his eyes filled with a profound sadness.
He looked up at me, his eyes mirroring his sorrow. "Do you think our daughter would have looked like her if she hadn't passed away?"
I had never told Damon the gender of our first child, yet his question caught me off guard.
A sharp pain pierced my heart at the mention of our lost child.
"How did you know it was a girl?" I asked, my voice laced with bitterness.
"I looked into your medical records before," Damon said, his gaze unwavering.
"I need a favor."
"Which is?" I asked, surprised at his confession.
