My father asked in surprise, “Sweetheart, why did you come by taxi? Where’s the Mercedes your mom and I gave you for your birthday?” Before I could answer, my husband smiled and said, “That car belongs to my mother-in-law now!”

Gerald studied her for a long breath. His silver brows furrowed. His gaze drifted to the street as if searching for invisible logic. The silence between them grew heavier, carrying the weight of disappointment he had not voiced.

“All right” he said at last. “Come inside, both of you.”

But instead of guiding them toward the front steps, he turned abruptly and walked toward the garage. His movements were steady and purposeful. Not rushed. Not impulsive. Determined.

Marina looked at Jared. Jared simply shrugged, as if her father’s reaction was mildly entertaining.

The metallic groan of the garage door rose into the quiet. Inside, Gerald rummaged through cabinets, drawers and shelves. The sounds echoed out into the driveway. Marina’s heart thudded. She knew her father well enough to sense when something inside him was shifting.

Eventually he stepped out with a set of keys in his hand. Behind him sat his immaculate silver sedan, polished to a gleam even in the dim garage light. The car had been his pride for years, maintained with almost ceremonial dedication.

“Marina” he said in a firm but gentle voice. “Come here.”

She approached slowly.

He extended the keys. “Take my car.”