Nathaniel's footsteps echoed sharply against the marble hallway as he sprinted toward the back of the house, Emma's small, tear-streaked face still burned into his mind from the video call moments earlier. He rounded the final corner and saw her immediately — pressed against the glass terrace door, small palms flat against the pane, tears streaming freely down her face.
"Daddy!" she cried out the moment she spotted him, her voice muffled through the glass but unmistakable in its desperation.
"I'm here, sweetheart, hold on!" Nathaniel called back, already fumbling with the door's lock mechanism, his hands shaking with an urgency that made the simple task feel impossibly complicated. The lock caught, metal rattling uselessly against his trembling fingers, precious seconds stretching out while Emma continued crying just inches away on the other side of the glass.
Finally, the mechanism gave way, and Nathaniel pulled the door open, cold afternoon air rushing in alongside his daughter's full, unrestrained sobbing. Behind Emma, further back in the living room, Vivian stood in a flowing white silk dress, watching the scene unfold with an expression of complete, unbothered composure.