"Dad, she's been cutting herself," Vicky said, almost shouting.
Jessie, thirteen, looked furious at her mother.
"Oh," I said awkwardly. "Sorry, I'll come back another time."
Before leaving, I told them, "I'm here for you girls."
Neither answered me.
When I returned to my empty house, I took off my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. Nobody ever wonders why a 70-year-old man always wears long sleeves.
The old guy's just cold, they'd think. It's his blood.