She has my eyes.
I didn't mean to do it. I didn't, honest. But when you're the leader of every newsie in Manhattan, you have a reputation to uphold. I don't so much sleep around as just keep the morale of my boys up. Every time they hear Kloppman lecturing me or see me steal into the Lodging House late at night, grinning, they laugh and tease and guffaw until their jaws nearly drop off.
'Cause I'm Jack Kelly. And it's my job to keep my boys in line.
But she has my eyes.
Green, with the same little flecks as mine. Sometimes when I'm shaving I glance in the mirror. One of the things I like most about myself is the color of my eyes. I'm not vain, really, but I've been told often enough by girls that my eyes are what makes them weak in the knees.
I wish I had been there when she was born. I wish I could have seen her, seen her open her eyes for the first time and dress her in tiny white gowns and comb her thin brown hair. She's beautiful, you know. So tiny, each fingernail so impossibly small and perfectly formed I have to touch them to believe they're there.
But she's dressed in a thick brown dress now. It's ugly, hideous, poor and homespun looking. She should always be dressed in green. Green as her eyes, green as the envy of the other girls as she grows older and more beautiful.
She will be beautiful. I can tell already, especially when her eyelashes flutter. She's asleep on my shoulder now, her small, perfect body cuddled against me. Her hair is so soft that it feels like the wisps of a cloud against my fingertips.
I don't remember the night she was conceived. Her mother is only vaguely memorable. I believe I was drunk. The girl is seventeen, much too thin, with a large nose and huge eyes. Her brown hair is pulled into a low, homely bun.
How can our baby be so beautiful when the mother is so ugly? I must have been very, very drunk when we made love. I like my girls young and pretty, with sweet smiles. This woman has large front teeth. How dare she ask to hold the baby?
The baby is mine, all mine. We've agreed on naming our daughter Sarah, after my longest love. I wish this baby was Sarah's. I loved Sarah. I do not love this foul woman.
But given the chance, I would do it all again. Just for this baby, this wonderful baby girl pressed gently against me. I've never felt so much love for something, or felt this need to be so protective over anything before. Sarah is so fragile. From her tiny eyelashes to her feet, she is immaculate.
I wish I could take care of Sarah, but I'm just barely making enough money as is. I can't support a family, especially if I don't love my wife. I love my child, though, and I will do anything for her.
Daddy loves you, Sarah. But Daddy can't afford a baby.
Daddy will always love you. And one day, Daddy will find the family that's adopted you and take you back.
Daddy promises. Because...
Because you have my eyes.