“Yes,” I answered quietly. “I’m his daughter.”
The gossip spread fast. By afternoon my friend Vanessa was on the phone with me, furious.
“Have you completely lost your mind? He’s the father of the man who destroyed your life.”
“And he’s also the man who helped me survive leaving it.”
The following week, I posted a photograph online of our hands resting together beneath the maple tree outside the facility. I didn’t include names. I wasn’t looking for attention. I only wanted to preserve the memory.
That same night, Ethan called me from a blocked number.
“What exactly are you trying to pull, Claire?”
His voice still carried that same arrogant sharpness.
“Taking care of your father. Something you forgot how to do.”
“Stop pretending you’re some saint. Olivia’s furious. People are saying I abandoned him.”
“Then come feed him, bathe him, and look him in the eye.”
Silence.
Then he snapped:
“You’re probably trying to manipulate him so you can take whatever little money he has left.”
I hung up.
The next Wednesday, Richard asked me to come into his room. He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out an old brass key tied with a faded blue ribbon.
“It opens the workshop and the small apartment upstairs,” he said quietly. “I want you to have it.”
I stepped back immediately.
“I can’t take that.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“My children will just sell everything. You’re the only one who would keep it alive.”
I accepted the key with shaking hands.
I had no idea it would unlock far more than a building.
It was about to unlock a war.
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