Excerpt

"Four o'clock is approaching; my daughter is becoming restless, prancing like a colt, ready to bolt out of here. The program is over: The news she will watch at home. But she gives it another try: she fishes out a large sheet of paper from her handbag -she goes around with gigantic handbags- that carries a text in huge capital letters: I LOVE YOU, SQUEEZE MY HAND IF YOU UNDERSTAND. She grabs my left hand; I let her, but do not react. Of course, I could squeeze it - my left hand works fine, but I remain motionless. She sighs, returns the sheet into her handbag and rises, ready to leave."

Somewhere I read about a father saying that his child's heart is a second heart that beats in his chest, right next to his own. I always felt like this about you but I was never able to express is. At most, I could say: I only have one daughter.