I was struggling to walk home with my eleven-month-old baby balanced on my hip, my i:nj:ured leg aching with every step and heavy grocery bags digging into my fingers, when my father suddenly pulled his car alongside me. He lowered the window and asked, “Sweetheart, where’s your car?” When I confessed that my mother-in-law had confiscated it because she believed I wasn’t worthy of driving, his expression turned ice-cold. He opened the passenger door and said quietly, “Get in, honey. Tonight, we’re putting an end to this.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Linda took the keys.”

He glanced at Noah, then back at me.

“The SUV you’re paying for?”

I nodded.

“Did Ethan know?”

“Yes.”

Dad went completely still.

He took Noah gently from my arms, helped me into the passenger seat, and loaded the groceries into his vehicle.

“Camila, we’re going back.”

“Dad, please don’t use your rank to frighten them.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You can speak for yourself. I’m coming because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Minutes later, we turned into my in-laws’ driveway.

Linda stood beside my SUV, casually swinging my keys around one finger. Ethan watched from the porch.

When she saw my father helping me out of the vehicle, she laughed.

“So you went crying to Daddy?”

Dad stopped beside me, holding Noah securely against his shoulder.

Then he looked directly at Linda.