Chapter 7
Julian walked slowly back out through the grand double doors, the heavy envelope clutched tightly in his hand like a weapon he no longer knew how to wield. The bright morning sun felt blinding after the dim, chilled interior of the foyer. Clara was still sitting on the padded wicker patio chair where he had left her, her knees pulled up slightly, her bruised arms wrapped around herself in a pathetic attempt to ward off a chill that didn't exist in the summer heat. Hearing his footsteps on the stone pavers, Clara looked up, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of hope and residual terror. “Daddy? Did you make her leave? Is it over?” she asked, her voice cracking with desperate reliance. Julian stopped a few feet away, neither kneeling this time nor offering the comforting embrace he had given her minutes earlier. Instead, he slowly extended his hand, letting the faded polaroid slide from the envelope and flutter down onto the small glass table between them. Clara’s eyes dropped to the photograph, and all color instantly drained from her already pale face. Her breath hitched, turning into a shallow, ragged gasp as her hands flew up to cover her mouth. For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound was the distant chirping of birds and the gentle splash of the courtyard fountain. “Care to explain this, Clara?” Julian asked, his voice dead flat, devoid of anger, carrying only a profound, crushing disappointment. Clara shrank back into the cushions, tears finally spilling over her lashes, tracking clean paths through the dust and sweat on her cheeks. “I... I can explain. It wasn't what it looks like, Daddy, please,” she sobbed, the restrained composure she had maintained completely shattering under the weight of the undeniable proof.
