Delilah nodded, clutching the clothes to her chest.
"Is my dad still here?" she asked.
"No, he left last night. Said he had something important to do," Claudia explained.
"Of course, more important than I am," Delilah said. She folded her arms across her chest. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, damp and tangled from the night's transformation, framing her pale face, flushed from fear and exhaustion.
Claudia pulled Delilah close, wrapping her in a hug that was firm. "Your father is struggling," she murmured. "And I am sure his heart just couldn't take it, knowing you were down here alone. That is why he left."
Delilah shook her head, breaking free just enough to look away. "Don't make excuses for him, Mrs. Blackwood. He has been that way all my life." There was a sharpness there, a deep-seated pain that had nothing to do with the night, but with years of absence, of love withheld. She slipped into the dress Claudia brought her.
