Epilogue

"Daddy, why mamma call you 'daddy' in the bedroom?" I heard my five-year-old daughter ask her father.

Nicolas choked on his coffee and I choked on my own saliva. I glared at Nicolas from the kitchen who shrugged nonchalantly.

"Principessa, never talk about this in front of anyone, sí? Your mamma doesn't call me daddy. She calls me 'Nivana's Daddy'. You heard it wrong." Nicolas spoke as he put our daughter on his lap.

"No, no. I heard it right! I also heard mamma making weird sounds last night." She mused.

"Nivana." I glared at her.

Nivana smiled at me innocently.

I mentally rolled my eyes and made my way toward my daughter who is just like her father, got ocean-blue eyes, black hair, pale skin, stubborn personality and smart mouth.

"Last night mamma was sick, okay? Now stop talking and finish the omelette." I stood with arms akimbo, frowning at my little angel.

"And my sweet sweet husband. You don't know your daughter was distracting you so that she can skip the food? When will you