Phoebe's POV
When I heard my father's words—his quiet gratitude, his acknowledgment of the woman I'd become—I couldn't pinpoint exactly what I felt. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was the strange sensation of a wound beginning to close. Or maybe it was just emptiness, like something vital had been carved out of my chest and the space was slowly filling with something new.
I forced down the bitter taste in my mouth and turned away from his cell. The conversation had drained me in ways I hadn't expected, leaving me feeling hollow yet strangely lighter.
Maybe someday we'd speak again as father and daughter. Maybe we'd find our way to something resembling forgiveness. But right now, I had to conserve whatever strength I had left for one more visit.
One more confrontation that I'd been avoiding for too long.
