Henry looked up from his laptop, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes—eyes steady, resolute. "Absolutely, Eliana," he said, his voice low but unshakable. "Look." He angled the laptop toward her. "Your university credits are already transferred to University of London. No setbacks, no lost time. You'll start right where you left off. And your father—" He gestured toward the living room.
Her father, once frail and skeletal in a hospital bed, now rested on the couch, a soft blanket covering his recovering frame. His chest rose and fell in the deep, steady rhythm of someone finally safe.
"For him," Henry continued, "I've arranged follow-up appointments with a specialist at St Thomas' Hospital. One of the best. They'll take good care of him. Better than here. Lastly, we need to go shopping for more supplies."
