Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just one broken breath after another, as if grief had finally found a crack.
“I’ve tried,” he said. “I’ve tried so many times. They told me you didn’t want contact. They told me you were safer without me. Iris, I never stopped looking for a way back.”
My heart strained toward him and away at the same time.
The child in me wanted to believe instantly. The woman Jason had trained in suspicion stood back, arms crossed, asking how even joy could be trusted.
“Where are you?” I asked.
There was a pause.
“I can’t say on the phone.”
Daniel’s eyes sharpened. He held out his hand, asking silently for the device. I shook my head once.
My father continued. “I’m not far. I saw the news. The courthouse. Your name. I knew if Jason had lost control enough for this to become public, then maybe—” His voice cracked. “Maybe you were finally free enough to hear the truth.”
