I would have gone to the bathroom, cried into a hand towel, and hated myself for still wanting his approval.
But I was not twenty-two anymore.
I had flown through sandstorms.
Landed in zero visibility.
Pulled strangers from water, fire, and wreckage.
My father still believed I was the daughter who ran.
He had no idea how many people I had brought home.
Then Margaret brought Richard Hail to my table.
Her brother.
My father’s business partner.
A thick-necked man in a Tom Ford suit with a Rolex flashing beneath the candlelight.
“Military, huh?” Richard said.
“Good for you.
Somebody has to do it.”
He took a sip of scotch.
“I just prefer people who can actually build something, not simply follow orders.”
The table went quiet.
My father arrived like he had been waiting for his cue.
Soon the three of them stood around me: Gerald on my left, Margaret behind me, Richard across the table.
