True to his word, within an hour, a smartly dressed woman arrived at my gate. Her name was Angela, and she was one of my father’s assistants. She crouched down to my level, her expression warm and soothing. “Your dad sent me to bring you home,” she said gently, brushing away a tear from my cheek. “You’re safe now.”
The flight back to New York felt surreal. Angela stayed by my side, ensuring I had everything I needed. She even managed to coax a small smile from me with stories about the adventures she had been on while working for my father. But inside, my emotions churned—a whirlwind of relief, confusion, and sadness.
When we landed, my father was there, waiting just beyond the security checkpoint. He enveloped me in the kind of hug that seemed to squeeze all my broken pieces back together. “I’m so sorry, Leah,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
