Frank looked through the glass at Leah. “That’ll sit inside her for a long time.”
Nico nodded once.
“You know the kind of man I think you are?” Frank said.
“Yes.”
“The kind that brings storms into other people’s houses and then acts surprised when the roof caves in.”
That, too, was true.
Frank shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Leah has this impossible streak. Got it from her mother. Third grade, she stood between a boy and a much bigger kid with a baseball bat. In high school, she came home with a black eye because she tried to stop two boys kicking another kid behind the gym. I used to tell her courage and recklessness were cousins.”
“And what did she say?”
Frank almost smiled despite himself. “She said somebody had to be related to both.”
Nico let out one brief breath that might have been the edge of a laugh.
Frank looked at him then, really looked at him, and what he saw there complicated his hatred in a way he deeply resented.
“If you make her sacrifice mean nothing,” Frank said, “I will spend whatever years I have left making sure your daughter knows exactly who you are.”
Nico met his eyes. “You won’t have to.”
On the fourth day, Leah woke up furious.
Pain came first.
Then light.
Then the miserable discovery that breathing felt like an argument she was losing.
She tried to move and immediately regretted every life choice that had brought her to consciousness.
“Easy,” a nurse said.
Leah blinked into focus. Hospital room. Afternoon sun. Monitors. Dry mouth. Tubes. Her body felt as if it had been rebuilt by somebody with blueprints but no patience.
“Did I…?” she tried.
The nurse leaned closer. “You’re safe. Surgery went well. Your father is coming.”
Leah swallowed. “Sophie?”
“She’s safe.”
Leah closed her eyes in relief.
