I looked straight at Jack—his split lip still oozing blood, chin smeared crimson, eyes wild with the kind of rage that only comes from watching everything you once owned walk away—and let out a low, mocking scoff that carried over the wind.
"Hmph… you can't even take care of yourself," I said, loud and deliberate, making sure every ear in the camp heard it.
"Look at you—bleeding on the sand, barely standing, starving your own kid while you sit there feeling sorry for yourself. How the hell are you supposed to take care of your daughter? You're a walking corpse already. Anyway… I'm still her father." I paused, letting the word drop like a stone into still water. "Ahm… stepfather."
Mira's breath caught audibly beside me. Her cheeks ignited in a deep, burning blush—eyes dropping to the sand for a split second before snapping back up to mine.
