"Dad?" I burst into the room scanning back and forth, but froze in my tracks when I saw the figure under the window.
Dad stood, looking out at the street below, his graying hair sticking in all directions. His shirt had a stain on the front. His jeans were crumpled and dirty. If I'd seen him on the street I would have wondered if he was homeless. He'd lost weight. And when he turned, eyes wide, his face was lined with so much stress and grief I almost broke down on the spot.
"Kate, honey," his voice broke as he crossed the space between us to pull me into a hug so tight I almost couldn't breathe. I clung to him, inhaled his familiar smell and forced myself not to cry. Dad was here. Dad was safe. Praise the Light.
