So yes, seven months feels like enough because seven months with him has been more than twenty years with you ever managed.” It landed the way she intended it to. He sat with it because there wasn’t anything else to do. He thought about Claire at the window. Don’t give up on her. “I just want you to be sure,” he said quietly. “I am sure.” She picked up her bag.
“I’m not asking for your approval. I’m not asking you to like him or trust him or give us your blessing.” She paused at the door. “I’m asking you to be my father for once and support me. That’s all.” He looked at his stepdaughter across the table. Thirteen years old when he’d married her mother. Seventeen when Claire got sick. A long road of distance between then and now, most of it his fault, some of it hers, all of it real.