The child's shy voice rang through. Josiah, who was in a daze, turned his head and his gaze landed on me. He was slightly stunned.
Perhaps he knew that the person who spoke just now wasn't me, so he looked at Anne.
The adult and child looked at each other for a moment. They were father and daughter. They were inextricably linked. He pursed his lips and frowned.
After some time, he looked at me and said, "The child is..."
"Anne, give the flowers to Mama Monique," I spoke. I intended to avoid his question.
If Monique didn't want to hand over the child to Josiah, then I wouldn't. It was selfish, but it was also Monique's last wish.
Anne nodded. She was too young to understand the meaning of life and death. Putting the sunflower in front of the tombstone, she stared at the photo on the tombstone.
She was about the equal height of the tombstone. So, she could see the photo without bending down. Mother and daughter met and looked each other in the eye. It seemed like I went back in time when the mother and daughter hugged and cried together.
"Mama Monique, Mom said that you are very important to her. Mom is very important to me. From now on, you are also important to me too," Anne said.
The child's words and logic were strange, but her voice was soft. It could make people feel particularly sorry for her.
Josiah wasn't a fool. He knew that I had a miscarriage back then. He should also know that Anne wasn't my child.
He looked at Anne. His gaze was too calm and deep. He must have put two and two together.
It seemed that I had never told him that Monique was gone. Now that he was here, someone had probably told him about it.
He looked at me and asked, "What's her name?"
He obviously asked for the child's name. "Moanna Reid!" I looked at the tombstone, where Anne was wiping off the dust on the memorial picture with her tiny hands.
It suddenly felt saddening looking at the scene.
Josiah nodded his head and his Adam's apple trembled as he said, "It's a good name."
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