Alastair halted, overtaken by the magnitude of the moment. He shook his head slowly. “I am not angry. I only need to see my daughter.”
Celia rose to her feet. Her hand remained firmly on the boy’s sleeve. Her eyes held a new brightness. She took cautious steps toward her father. Alastair lowered himself to one knee because standing suddenly felt impossible. His hands trembled slightly.
Celia touched his shoulder and whispered another word.
“Papa.”
He covered his mouth. Emotion swept through him so fiercely he could not speak. She reached for him and he gathered her into his arms, overwhelmed by gratitude. The silence that had ruled her life, their life, cracked open just enough for hope to seep through.
When he finally composed himself he turned to the boy. “What is your name.”
The boy swallowed. “Corin Denham.”
“Corin,” Alastair repeated softly. “You have done something for my child no expert ever could.”
Corin looked confused. “I just treated her like anyone else. She looked like she wanted company.”