PART 6: The Eye of the Daughter

PART 6: The Eye of the Daughter

Sharp gazes pierce through rainy night shadows.

"Mom?"

The voice was soft, cutting through the murmur of the wedding party and the patter of rain against the leaves.

I froze.

My boots stopped on the wet brick path.

I didn't turn around immediately.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of the damp air, feeling the cold drops tracking down my cheeks.

Footsteps crunched lightly behind me—the hurried, distinct click of bridal heels against stone.

"Mom, don't you dare walk away," Emily's voice cracked, closer now, laced with a mix of fierce determination and overwhelming emotion.

I turned slowly to face her.

Emily stood under the amber glow of the courtyard lantern, her white lace dress damp at the hem where she had run through the grass.

Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed, scanning my face, my posture, and the scarred hands clutching the strap of my duffel bag.

She didn't care about the rain.

She didn't care that her wedding dress was getting ruined.

She crossed the remaining distance between us in three swift steps and threw her arms around my neck, burying her face into my shoulder with a fierce, suffocating grip.

"I saw the news," she whispered fiercely against my collarbone, her shoulders shaking. "I saw the flight number... I knew you were coming from Vegas... I knew it was you."

I raised my arms, wrapping them around my daughter for the first time in fifteen years, pressing my face into her hair, which smelled of vanilla and champagne.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I choked out, a rare tear breaking free and slipping down my cheek. "Traffic was... complicated."

Emily pulled back, holding me by the shoulders, a tearful, beautiful smile breaking across her face despite the mascara running down her cheeks.

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