“Whose SUV was that?” she asked, walking closer. “I saw it driving away down the street.”

“Just a delivery,” I said. “Please, sit down.”

She paused, her brow furrowing.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. “You look really pale.”

“I need to talk to you,” I said. “It’s about something very important.”

She slowly pulled out one of the heavy mahogany chairs and sat down.

The dining room was quiet, save for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

The afternoon sun cast long, pale lines of light across the polished wood of the table.

I sat in the chair next to her, reaching out to take her hands.

Her hands were warm, a sharp contrast to my own freezing fingers.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” I said, looking directly into her eyes.

“Okay,” she said, her voice dropping.

“No matter what I tell you today,” I said, “I want you to know how much I love you. You are my daughter, and nothing will ever change that.”

Claire’s eyes widened, her fingers tightening around mine.