Chapter 4 - A Father’s Shield
Claire wiped her face furiously with the back of her wrist, taking a step backward until her spine hit the cold metal of the folding table.
"I looked at you for twenty-two years, Dad," she choked out. "All I ever saw was a man who cared more about his legacy, his reputation, and his control than he did about my happiness. You told me I would fail without you. You told me Julian would ruin me."
"I was right about Julian!" Edward blurted out before he could stop himself.
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Claire’s eyes flashed with deep, agonizing pain. She bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Yes. You were right. He left me when I was three months pregnant with twenty dollars in my purse. You win, Dad! Is that what you came here to hear? You were right! I failed! I’m folding sheets in a basement for fifty dollars a week! Are you satisfied now?"
"No!" Edward roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders heaving as a sob broke from his throat—a sound so raw and broken that Claire froze in utter shock. She had never, in her entire life, seen Edward Blake cry. Not when his business faced ruin, not when her mother died, never.
Edward dropped his hands, revealing a face ravaged by grief and absolute humility.
"I didn't win, Claire," Edward choked out, his voice shaking violently. "I lost. I lost five years of your life. I lost the chance to see my granddaughter be born. I sat in a twenty-million-dollar penthouse every night, surrounded by gold and glass, dying of starvation because I was too proud to pick up the phone and say three words."
He took a step closer. Claire didn't pull away this time.
"I was wrong, Claire," Edward whispered, falling to his knees once again, right in front of her worn sneakers. "I was an arrogant, foolish old man who thought he could control love with money. You didn't fail. You survived. You raised this beautiful, brilliant little girl all by yourself in the dark, while I hid in the light like a coward."
Claire stared down at her father—the almighty billionaire Edward Blake, kneeling in the dirt of a laundromat, weeping at her feet.
Lily tugged softly on Claire’s sweater. "Mommy... don't be mad at the grand-man. He got us the chocolate cake. And he squeezed me really warm when it was raining."
Claire looked down at Lily, then back at Edward. Her body began to tremble. The anger, the bitterness, the five years of accumulated rage and pride suddenly gave way under the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.
Her knees buckled.
Edward caught her before she hit the floor, pulling both Claire and Lily tightly into his arms. Claire buried her face in her father’s shoulder, her fingers gripping his crisp suit coat, and let out a long, shuddering cry that echoed through the quiet laundromat.
"I'm sorry, Claire," Edward kept repeating into her hair, kissing her forehead over and over again. "I'm so sorry, my sweet girl. I'm so sorry."
"I was so tired, Dad," Claire sobbed, clinging to him like a drowning child. "I was just so tired..."
"I know," Edward whispered, his tears falling into her hair. "I've got you now. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
Suddenly, Claire’s weight went completely limp in his arms. Her head slumped against his shoulder, her eyes closing as her breathing grew shallow and raspy.
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"Claire?" Edward asked, panic instantly spiking in his blood. "Claire!"
He touched her forehead. She was burning up with a severe, terrifying fever.
