"Trooper Derek Malloy."
Isaiah went completely still.
For several seconds, he seemed unable to move.
Then he looked at the damaged door again.
"That man?"
Naomi nodded.
"Yes."
Isaiah pressed one hand against the roof of the car.
His fingers tightened.
Naomi had seen her father angry before.
But rarely like this.
His face did not redden.
He did not shout.
He became very quiet.
"Come inside," he said.
"Dad—"
"Come inside, Naomi."
She nodded.
He took her handbag despite her protest and walked toward the front door.
Inside, the house smelled of roasted chicken, garlic, and rosemary.
Dinner waited in the kitchen.
The dining table had been set for two.
Two glasses.
Two plates.
A small vase of fresh flowers.
Her father had even placed a folded napkin beside her chair.
Naomi stared at the table.
For reasons she could not explain, the sight made her eyes fill.
Isaiah noticed.
He placed the handbag on a chair.
Then opened his arms.
"Come here, baby."
Naomi stepped forward.
She had spent the afternoon keeping her expression controlled.
She had responded to threats without shouting.
She had stood beside her damaged car and explained facts carefully.
She had answered questions from supervisors.
She had driven the remaining distance without crying.
Now, standing in her father's kitchen, she finally allowed herself to fall apart.
Isaiah held her.
He did not ask for details.
He did not tell her to be strong.
He simply wrapped his arms around his daughter and let her cry.
After several minutes, Naomi pulled away.
She wiped her cheeks.
"I'm sorry."
Isaiah shook his head.
"For what?"
"I didn't mean to come in here like this."
He looked at her.
"You're my daughter. You don't have to arrive here looking like nothing happened."
She laughed weakly.
Isaiah smiled.
Then he pulled out a chair.
"Sit down."
Naomi sat.
He poured her a glass of water.
Then he sat across from her.
"Now tell me what happened."
She began at the beginning.