Ava’s POV:
My father stands just inside the doorway, smaller than I remember and heavier in ways that have nothing to do with age. His shoulders slope forward, not with humility but with calculation, like a man who knows when to appear defeated and when to sharpen his edges. He smiles when he sees me. The smile lands wrong.
“Ava,” he says softly. “There you are.”
Margaret steps aside to let him in fully, her posture composed, her expression neutral in a way that feels rehearsed. Theodore remains where he is, arms crossed, watching us like this is a transaction nearing its final stage.
“You asked to see her,” Margaret says to my father. “You have five minutes.”
“More than enough,” he replies.
The door closes behind him. I don’t miss the quiet click of the lock.
He looks around the ro
