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When she reaches me, she stops.
We're almost the same height.
Her silver-gray eyes search mine.
“Can I hug you?”
My heart stops.
“Yes.”
She falls into me.
My arms close around my daughter.
Eighteen years disappear.
And they don't.
Because this isn't the newborn I held against my chest.
This is a young woman.
A survivor.
A girl who crossed the country looking for her father.
My daughter.
I bury my face in her hair.
“I’m sorry.”
She holds me tighter.
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“For missing everything.”
Her body shakes against mine.
“You didn't know where I was.”
“I should have found you.”
“You did.”
“No. You found Sean.”
“And you found Greg.”
I pull back enough to look at her.
She wipes her face.
“If you hadn't, those girls would still be there.”
