"I know he is," I say, the reassurance hitting me right where it needs to. "I trust him. I just... I miss him when the apartment gets this quiet."
"That's natural," Dad says, leaning his elbows on the table, his big, scarred hands loosely clasped. "A good man makes his absence felt. But he's doing what needs to be done so when he comes through that door, you two can actually breathe." He pauses, studying my face carefully. "How are you holding up otherwise? Really holding up? Your energy feels different tonight."
"It is different," I say, resting my chin in my hand as I look at him. “My appetite is back. And my final panels are in eight days, Dad. The clinic called to confirm the appointment yesterday."
Dad’s posture shifts instantly. The heavy, protective tension he’s carried in his sh
