"Claire?" Her father's voice came through immediately, warm and alert despite the surprise evident in his tone — she rarely called him first these days, a fact that had always carried a quiet guilt she'd never fully examined.
"Dad," she managed, her voice breaking entirely now, the careful composure she'd maintained through Marcus's departure finally giving way completely. "I need your help."
"Claire, what's wrong? Is it the baby? Are you hurt?"
"Sophia's fine," she said, forcing the words out through ragged breaths. "She's fine, but Marcus — he just left. He gave me bus fare and left me outside the hospital. I don't have a ride, I don't have — Dad, I don't have anywhere to go."
There was a brief pause on the line, and Claire could picture her father exactly — jaw tightening, already reaching for his car keys, the particular controlled fury he'd always carried quietly beneath his steady, reliable exterior.
"Where are you standing right now?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge now.
"Outside Saint Mary's, the main entrance," Claire said, wiping uselessly at the tears still streaming down her face.