“Yes, sir. This is Agent VGA with Family Services… Yes, she’s safe. She’s right here… A private jet? You’re… in Wyoming? Understood, sir. One hour. Yes. We will have her ready. We’ll wait with her right here.”
She hung up the phone and stared at me. The pity was gone. It was replaced by something that looked like… awe.
“Leah,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“Your father… he’s on his way. He’s diverting his jet. He’ll be here in an hour.”
He was here in fifty-three minutes. I’d never seen him in person. Not really. Just in a single, faded photograph my mom kept in a “bad memories” box.
He was taller than the man in the photo. He was wearing a dark suit that looked like it cost more than our car, but his tie was loose, and his dark hair was a mess, like he’d been dragging his hands through it. He didn’t look at Mrs. VGA. He didn’t look at the other officers. His eyes—rimmed with red, intense, and terrified—found mine. He knelt, right there on the ugly tile floor, and held out his arms.
I didn’t walk. I ran. I slammed into him, burying my face in his jacket. He smelled like soap and coffee and something… safe. He held me so tightly I could barely breathe, and I didn’t care. His body was shaking.
