Chapter 9 - THE SLOW THAW
The silence that settled over my estate in the weeks that followed was no longer the heavy silence of grief, but the peaceful quiet of safety.
I dedicated myself entirely to Lily. I handed day-to-day operations of my empire to my COO. I spent my days building blanket forts, reading books, and attending therapy sessions with my daughter.
Healing wasn't instantaneous. For the first few weeks, Lily would still flinch if a door slammed too hard, or if a plate dropped in the kitchen. But slowly, the light returned to her eyes. The bruised handprint faded from her cheek, and with time, the memory began to lose its sharp edges.
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We brought a golden retriever puppy into the house, a clumsy, joyful creature she named Barnaby. Watching her roll around on the grass, giggling wildly as the dog licked her face, I felt the ice in my chest—the ice that had formed the day Claire died, and frozen solid the day in the laundry room—finally begin to crack and melt.
I was not just a protector anymore. I was a father again.
