"Claire," her father said, his voice dropping into something deeper, more deliberate, carrying the particular weight of a decision he'd clearly already made in the handful of seconds since her call connected. "I want you to listen to me carefully."
"I'm listening," she whispered, tears still tracking steadily down her cheeks, Sophia's small weight anchoring her through the emotional wreckage of the last ten minutes.
"You're coming home," he said, his voice deep and unwavering, carrying none of the distance or disappointment she'd half-feared might color this conversation after months of independence she'd insisted on maintaining. "Starting today. You and Sophia both. Your old room is exactly as you left it, and we'll figure out everything else — the job, the apartment, all of it — one step at a time, together."
Claire closed her eyes, letting his words settle over her exhausted, aching chest, feeling something loosen in her that had been wound painfully tight for months. "Dad, I don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything," he replied gently. "Just wait for me. I'll be there soon."
Claire opened her eyes, looking down at Sophia's small, sleeping face, feeling for the first time since Marcus's SUV had disappeared around the corner that perhaps this day — this devastating, humiliating, frightening day — might still end somewhere safe after all. She held the phone a moment longer, listening to her father's steady breathing on the other end of the line, and let herself, finally, believe him.