Mr. Sinclair: "..."
His smile froze, a complex look flickering in his eyes as he gave the man who had spoken a long, hard look.
He had been in his forties when Chloe was born, which made him sixty now.
He'd always thought he had aged well; after all, people online always said he didn't look like he was sixty.
But this man's words today plunged him into profound self-doubt.
"I'm her father." Mr. Sinclair had never been so insistent, explaining his relationship with Chloe in a dead-serious tone.
The other father scratched his head, realizing he had likely put his foot in his mouth, and quickly apologized.
Mr. Sinclair wasn't angry. He simply nodded at the group of parents and took his seat at Chloe's desk.
As he sat down, he glanced up and saw the messy pile of books in the drawer of the desk ahead. Then, he looked down at his own daughter's desk.
'Very good.'
Her textbooks were stacked neatly, arranged with meticulous care.
"Well, if it isn't Director Sinclair?"
