He looked exhausted.
Unshaven.
A glass of whiskey sat untouched in front of him.
When he saw me, hope crossed his face.
“Claire.”
I placed the access log on the table.
He looked down.
I watched recognition appear.
Then fear.
“You opened the hospital email.”
Arthur said nothing.
“You knew.”
“Claire—”
“You knew Chloe was in intensive care.”
“I knew she was admitted.”
My entire body began shaking.
“You knew.”
“I didn’t understand how serious it was.”
“The subject line said urgent.”
“I thought you had taken her in because of the fever.”
“Pediatric intensive care.”
“I was drinking.”
“That’s your defense?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Because I knew if I called, you would tell me to come home.”
For a second, the bar disappeared.
All I could hear was Chloe.
Daddy coming?
Tell Daddy I’m sick.
Tell him hurry.
