I leaned against my glass desk, gazing at a beautiful silver-framed photograph of my mother. She was smiling, her eyes bright and full of life. I kept the house, Mom, I thought. I kept my promise.
I was no longer a scared girl hiding in a basement. I was a world-renowned authority in my field, fiercely financially independent, and surrounded every day by a team of brilliant researchers who respected my intellect, not my submissiveness.
A soft, hesitant knock on my heavy glass office door pulled me from my thoughts. My senior assistant, a bright-eyed graduate student named Sarah, walked in. She looked deeply uncomfortable, clutching an iPad to her chest.
“Dr. Hensley? I’m so sorry to interrupt your data review,” Sarah stammered. “There’s a man in the main lobby. He says he’s your father. He… well, he doesn’t have an appointment, and security tried to turn him away, but he’s practically begging to see you for just two minutes.”
I felt a faint, distant prickle at the back of my neck, but the panic that usually accompanied his name had completely vanished. In its place was a great arctic calm.
"Okay, Sarah. I'll take care of it."
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