I came to visit my daughter, but her stepfather blocked the doorway. “She went traveling with friends,” he said smoothly. Her mother forced a smile. “She’s happy. Stop worrying.”

Emily sat on the edge of the ambulance bumper, a thick orange blanket draped over her shoulders. A paramedic was carefully cleaning the dried blood from her split lip, applying a butterfly bandage to a deep cut near her swollen cheek. She flinched slightly, but she didn't cry. The tears were done.

I walked up slowly, not wanting to startle her. When she saw me, a small, genuine smile broke through the pain on her face.

"All done here, sir," the paramedic said, stepping back and packing his kit. "No concussions, no broken bones. Just some severe bruising and dehydration. She’s incredibly tough."

"I know she is," I said, stepping into the space the paramedic vacated.

I sat down on the bumper next to her, pulling the edges of the orange blanket a little tighter around her shoulders to block the autumn chill. I reached out and took her hand. It was cold, but her grip was strong.

We sat in silence for a long time, watching the tow truck hook up Emily's muddy hatchback, watching the police tape being strung across the front door of the mansion. The life she had known here was officially over.

"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, Pop," she whispered, leaning her head against my shoulder. "I thought I could handle him."

"You don't ever have to apologize to me, Em," I said softly, kissing the top of her head. "And you don't ever have to handle monsters alone. That's what I'm here for."

She squeezed my hand, closing her eyes as the adrenaline finally faded, leaving behind exhaustion and relief.