The Model Daughter: Posing for Dad
Chapter 1

My bare feet are cold against the hardwood floor of Dad’s studio, but that’s not why I’m shivering. Late afternoon sunlight slants through the tall windows, painting everything in warm golds and soft oranges. Dust motes dance in the beams like tiny secrets. I clutch the collar of Dad’s old white button-down shirt tighter around my throat, the fabric soft and worn from years of him wearing it while he painted. It smells like him—turpentine, coffee, and that faint masculine scent that’s always made me feel safe.

Until now.

“Baby, if you’ve changed your mind, we can stop,” Dad says from behind...