The walls were glass. The desk was Italian walnut. The view stretched across Boston like a private kingdom.
For years, people had called this office a symbol of success.
That morning, it looked like a very expensive cage.
Julian stood alone in front of the window with Ruby’s folded note in his hand.
Dear borrowed dad, thank you for sitting where someone else should have stayed.
He had read those words so many times that the paper was soft at the edges.
At first, he thought the note was about Ruby’s father.
Then he realized it was also about him.
Not because he was Ruby’s father. He wasn’t.
