IMOGEN'S POV
As I carried the stack of plates towards the dining room, I heard familiar footsteps approaching. Suddenly, I was enveloped in a warm embrace, my father's arms wrapping around me as I struggled to keep the china from clattering to the floor.
"There's my girl," he said, his voice full of affection. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"
He gently took the plates from my hands, and we walked together into the dining room. The polished wood of the table gleamed under the soft lighting, a far cry from our old cramped eating space.
"I'm fine, Dad," I replied, forcing a smile. "How's the clinic going?"
Pride shone in his eyes as he began setting out the plates. "It's grown so much, Imogen. We may not be the big maternity clinic on the other side of town, but women are coming in and out constantly. And it's all thanks to you, you know. The women ask about you once in a while. Sometimes it almost feels like they are digging for some secret. Like how you pulled Elijah."
