CHAPTER TWELVE
Gwendolyn skipped through a summer field of flowers, bursting with color, her father, young and vibrant and healthy, by her side. She was young, perhaps ten, and he threw her up into the air and swung her as they skipped. She laughed hysterically, thrilled to be here with him. He laughed back, so carefree, a deep, reassuring sound. She felt so safe, so secure in the world, as if nothing could ever change.
The field was flooded with sunlight, brighter than she had ever seen, and as she looked at him, he looked younger and happier than she had ever seen him.
"I'm so proud of you, my child," he said to her.
Grinning widely, he reached down and picked her up, grabbing her by the arms and lifting her up high into the air, just as he had done when she was a baby. She laughed,
