“Father.” He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop to ask about the differences in me that he must sense. Knowing him, he probably already knew, even though I hadn’t said a word to him about it in the letter I’d sent. He pulled me to him, folding a hand that always seemed larger than life around the back of my head. “It’s going to be okay.” A shudder hit me, and for the first time since I was a pup, I almost believed the power of my father’s words alone could make everything okay.
