Clara turned, her heart stuttering. In the doorway stood a man and a woman, well-dressed but worn by something deeper than years. The woman clutched a folder tight against her chest, her eyes red-rimmed, her expression fragile with hope. The man’s jaw was set, his gaze steady as it locked onto Clara. “Clara Reynolds?” he asked quietly.
The room seemed to tilt. Clara gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself, the simple comfort of a normal evening shattering around her. Emily lingered by the doorway, her brows knitting. “Mom? Who are they?” The woman’s breath hitched. She stepped forward, her voice trembling with urgency. “We’re sorry to show up unannounced.