He walked without pause, following the path between the rose bushes toward the pavilion.
Sunlight fell on his shoulders, casting a warm glow on his ordinary face.
Eleanor didn't run over like an ordinary child.
She simply stood still, her small face tilted upward to watch her approaching father as a clear smile bloomed in her dark eyes.
The smile was gentle and bright, as if she had long foreseen this moment's arrival.
When Murphy finally set foot on the pavilion's stone steps, Eleanor stepped forward. She reached out her small hand and gently took her father's fingers, which were hanging at his side.
"Father," she said, her voice as soft as a feather. "You're here."
Murphy looked down at her, a hint of softness passing through his deep, dark eyes.
He gently squeezed her small hand in his and nodded.
"Yes, I'm here."
