We found a bar not far from the lab, a small, dimly lit place that felt just isolated enough to be safe. Sara ordered a whiskey, downing it quickly before leaning back in her seat, her eyes burning with leftover anger.

“Want to talk about it?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle.

She snorted, staring at her empty glass. “What’s there to talk about? He never cared, not when it mattered.”

I sighed, knowing that there were no easy words that would fix this. "Maybe he’s trying now."

Sara looked at me, her expression softening slightly, but still filled with frustration. “Too little, too late.” She waved the bartender over...