LORETTA

His handkerchief was customized

I pulled back the pristine white cotton material and stared at the small initials embroidered neatly into one corner.

E.F.

Even something as ordinary as a handkerchief carried his signature, very Elion Fitzpatrick-like. A watery laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Only Elion would own a handkerchief that probably cost more than should be allowed

“Thank you,” I breathed out, my voice hoarse from the crying earlier. It wasn't something I was proud of, crying in front of my father like a little girl. I wasn't a little girl anymore. I'm a twenty-three-year-old woman, turning twenty-four in a few months, but the words...