Margaret’s eyes widened as she processed the gravity behind the voice on the other end of the line. The Chief Justice, my father, was not a man to be trifled with.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” he said, his voice unyielding and firm, “I would appreciate if you could return the phone to my daughter.”
Margaret’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. The confidence she usually exuded seemed to dissolve as she handed the phone back to me without a word. I took it, feeling the weight of both her shock and my father’s support.
“Claire,” my father continued, “I want you to sit down. I’m sending someone over to take you to the hospital for a check-up. I’m also coming myself.”
The relief that washed over me was overwhelming. “Thank you, Dad,” I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes.
