“Daddy!” Grace screamed.
Grace screamed.
But I shoved him backward, sending him stumbling onto the lawn. “Get. Off. My. Property.”
“You RUINED me!” he screamed, his voice breaking with disbelief. “My career, my reputation — my life!”
“No,” I replied, looking him dead in the eye. “You ruined YOURSELF the second you tried to steal MY daughter.”
He pointed a shaking finger at Grace. “You’ll regret this!”
“You’ll regret this!”
“No,” I said, stepping onto the porch to block her from his view entirely. “But you will.”
He turned, stormed to his black, shiny car, and peeled out of the driveway, the sound of the tires squealing an appropriate end to his dramatic exit.
The moment the sound faded, Grace collapsed. She fell into my arms, clinging to me as sobs shook her body.
“Dad… I’m so sorry…” she choked out between gasps.
Grace fell into my arms, clinging to me as sobs shook her body.
The next few weeks were hell — for him, not us.
Two major exposés were published, and within two months, Chase’s reputation and his career were in shambles.
Grace was also a little quiet for a while, but one cold night, about a month after the dust had settled, I was teaching her how to repair a pair of sneakers when she said something that just about broke me.
She said something that just about broke me.
“Dad?” she whispered.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Thank you for fighting for me.”
I swallowed hard, the emotion catching in my throat. “I always will. You’re my girl, and I promised your mom I’d take care of you, always.”
She frowned at me. “Can I ask something?”
“Can I ask something?”
“Anything.”
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