Page 162 of His Surrender

“You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I need to stay here in case she comes back.”

“I can stay there too.”

“No.”

I look toward Liana. She sits quietly now, watching me with wide eyes.

Shame cuts through the panic.

My daughter is watching me unravel.

“I have Liana.”

“That’s exactly why I’m coming.”

“I said no.”

The silence on the other end lasts a second too long. I end the call without saying goodbye. My thumb hovers over the concierge number.

I cannot press it.

If I call hospitals, this will become real. If I call hospitals, I’ll become my father.

I see him at the kitchen table after the police leave, elbows on his knees, both hands covering his face. I hear a sound I have never heard from another human being before.

My legs weaken. I lower myself to the floor beside the kitchen island. The marble presses cold through my jeans.

I grip the phone in both hands and stare at Aubrey’s name. Her picture fills the screen. She is laughing in it, head tilted back, Liana held against her chest.

I took the photo two weeks ago. She had complained that her hair looked terrible. I thought she had never looked more beautiful.

A pressure builds behind my eyes. I blink hard, but it does not go away.

I do not cry. I have not cried in years. My vision blurs anyway.

“Please,” I whisper to no one. The word barely makes a sound. “Please come home.”

The elevator dings. For one second, I do not move. My brain refuses to understand the sound. Then the doors slide open.

Aubrey steps through, both arms overloaded with shopping bags. Her cheeks are pink from the weather, strands of hair escaping from beneath her knitted hat.

She is talking before she turns around. “You would not believe the line at—” She sees me, and the words stop.

The bags slide from her hands. One tips onto its side, spilling red tissue paper across the floor.

“Dean?”

I am on my feet before I consciously decide to move. The room blurs around her. I cross the distance between us in seconds and pull her against me with enough force that a startled breath leaves her.

My arms lock around her body. One hand presses against the back of her head. The other spreads across her spine, holding her so tightly that I can feel each breath she takes.

Her coat is cold beneath my palms. Her hair smells like winter air and the perfume she sprayed on before leaving.