CLAIRE
Chloe grasped my hand as if she feared the sidewalk might engulf me entirely.
Not in a loose manner, like most children do when they hold an adult's fingers out of routine or duty. It was a firm grip. Both of her tiny hands encircled three of my fingers, her hold strong and intentional, as if she had calculated the exact amount of pressure needed to prevent someone from vanishing and was applying it with meticulous accuracy.
We were just two blocks away from the penthouse, making our way to Central Park on a Thursday afternoon that was filled with the aroma of roasting chestnuts and exhaust fumes, along with that unique October sunlight that makes NYC appear as though it has been coated in honey.
Chloe walked closely beside my hip, keeping pace with me step for step, her bear
