“Open it.”

I lifted the lid.

Inside was a heavy gold fountain pen with a polished black barrel and brass threading around the cap.

“It’s for signing official orders,” he said, clearing his throat behind his hand.

“For good luck.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder at the glass lobby doors, where my mother was still talking to the front desk clerk, before leaning across the table.

“You have remarkable endurance, Sarah,” he said quietly.