Jonathan dropped his suitcase. The sound echoed sharply through the kitchen.
Emily didn’t wake up.
He approached slowly, almost afraid the scene would disappear if he moved too quickly — and even more afraid that it wouldn’t.
He knelt beside her and gently touched her cheek.
Her skin was cold.
Emily’s eyes flew open — but she didn’t smile. She didn’t say, “Daddy, you’re home.”
She flinched.
Her shoulders tightened. Her tiny hands curled into fists. She shrank inward as if bracing for anger.
“Daddy?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and cautious — the voice of a child who had learned not to be loud.
Something inside Jonathan shattered.
He lifted her carefully into his arms and felt how light she was. Too light. Her collarbone pressed sharply beneath the thin fabric. Her ribs were more visible than he remembered.
He had been gone fourteen days. Closing deals in London and Tokyo. Building expansions. Securing investments.
And somehow, while he was expanding his empire, his daughter had been shrinking.
“I’m here now,” he said softly — though the words felt painfully insufficient.
Emily trembled against him.