He adjusted his silver cuff links and glanced toward the pews filled with politicians, executives, and naval officers.
“Those photos will exist forever,” he said coldly. “I refuse to be remembered standing beside… that.”
That was all I was to him.
Not Lieutenant Evelyn Vale.
Not the daughter who had once sent money home to save his company.
Not the officer who had pulled three sailors through burning wreckage while danger spread around us.
Just that.
My scars burned beneath his stare, but I refused to cover them. I had survived fire, surgery, and months of recovery. I could survive my father’s cruelty too.
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