Riley inhaled deeply, her hands resting on the table now, no longer gripping the fork. There was something guarded about the way she held herself, but when she spoke, her voice was steady.
“My father,” she began, her gaze fixed on me, “was a military man, through and through. He enlisted before I was born and spent most of his life serving his country.”
I leaned back in my chair, studying her carefully. “Go on.”
She crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “He wasn’t the kind of man who was home for birthdays or holidays. His job always came first, but when he was home… he made sure to be there. Not just physically, but in every way that mattered.”
There was something about the way she said it, like she was remembering something distant, something painful.
I drummed my fingers aga
