Mark Collins had survived worse than embarrassment.
He had survived watching his wife die.
He had survived learning to braid his seven-year-old daughter's hair, pack lunches, attend parent-teacher meetings, and cry only after Lily had fallen asleep.
But nothing prepared him for sending the wrong text.
At 10:43 p.m., while finishing tomorrow's presentation and reminding Lily it was bedtime, he typed the message he had sent every night since his wife passed away.
I love you. Sleep tight, princess.
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