With a steadying breath, I returned her call. Her voice was soft, hesitant, and I could hear the strain beneath her words. “Dad,” she began, her voice slightly cracking. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Can we talk?”

We agreed to meet at a small café halfway between her house and my temporary lodging. As I approached the café, I noticed Tiffany sitting by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She looked up as I entered, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of that little girl, the one who once sought comfort in my presence.

“Dad,” she said softly as I sat down across from her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much we were asking of you.”