6. Soren
Chapter 6
Soren
I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
The moment Talia said the words—so casual, so offhand—it was like everything clicked into place. Like the solution had been sitting right in front of me all along, but I’d been too stubborn to see it.
A fake marriage.
It’s insane. It’s reckless. It’s something I’d never even considered before.
But it makes sense .
Legally, it would strengthen my custody case against Lisa’s parents. Socially, it would silence them before they could do any real damage. And, most importantly, Marigold likes Talia. Trusts her in a way she doesn’t trust most people.
So, incredibly, I warm to the idea fast. Too fast.
Because the second I bring it up again, Talia shuts me down so hard it almost knocks me off balance.
“Absolutely not,” Talia snaps.
She doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t let me finish before she’s shaking her head, arms crossed tight over her chest. We’re in the supply closet—again—the only place in this hospital where I can get her alone.
I lean against the shelves, folding my own arms, leveling her with a look. “You suggested it.”
“I joked about it,” she corrects, scowling at me. “Big difference.”
I arch a brow. “It’s a good idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“Talia.” My voice is calm, measured. “You and I both know my in-laws are coming for Marigold. They’re not going to stop.”
She presses her lips together, looking away. She knows I’m right. I see it in the way her shoulders tense, the way her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to argue.
So I keep going.
“If I were married,” I say carefully, “it would prove stability. Prove that Marigold is in a loving, structured home.”
Talia scoffs. “Loving? Soren, you barely tolerate me.”
I exhale slowly. “You’re over-exaggerating.”
“Oh, am I? You’ve been cold and broody since the day I moved next door.” She jabs a finger at my chest, eyes flashing. “You slammed the door in my face .”
I resist the urge to smirk. “Okay, I admit that I went a bit overboard with that. But even you have to see that this is not a real marriage in any sense. Loving or otherwise. Marigold is my only concern, and she… trusts you.”
I see her emerald eyes widen in surprise. Surprise that I admitted my daughter trusts her, I’m sure.
“We will a find a judge,” I go on, “spread the word around so the right people will overhear, and stay together just long enough to get my in-laws off my back.”
Her mouth opens, then snaps shut. I can see her scrambling for another reason, another excuse, but I don’t give her time. I step closer, just enough to invade her space, to make her notice how little room there is between us.
I lower my voice. “Marigold likes you. Trusts you.”
She exhales, annoyed. “That doesn’t mean—”
I tilt my head, watching her closely. “You’re good for her.”
Her brows pull together. For the first time, uncertainty flickers in her eyes.
I push harder. “You’re good for us .”
Talia blinks.
I know I’m fishing now, but I recognize that she’s an empathetic person. She puts her all into her patients. She’s a good nurse. She cares. I’m trusting that will convince her to help me with this.
Of course, Talia’s more than her work.
She challenges me. Frustrates me. Makes me feel things I shouldn’t.
Her throat moves in a slow swallow. For a brief second, I think she might actually consider it.
Then she huffs out a breath and steps back. “No.”
I grit my teeth. “Talia—”
“ No, Soren.” She crosses her arms again, jaw tight. “I am not ‘fake-marrying’ you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s insane! And unnecessary—”
I pin her with a look. She must know how absolutely necessary this is. I can’t simply turn around a find a wife tomorrow. Bring a stranger into my home. Into Marigold’s life.
Talia hesitates. Her defenses crack for a split second, but then she’s shaking her head again, eyes flashing.
“I don’t want to get caught up in your mess, okay?” she says. “I have my own life. My own plans. I’m in the middle of switching specialties! I am not playing house with you just to fix your problems.”
It’s a gut punch. Not because she’s wrong. But because for a moment, I forgot that this is my problem. And mine alone.
That no matter how much I want her to help me, she doesn’t have to.
Still, I can’t give up.
I drop my voice lower. “What if I make it worth your while?”
She arches a brow. “Like what? A raise?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
She snorts. “Wow. That’s rich.”
I ignore the jab. “What do you want, then?”
“Nothing . ” Her voice is firm. “I want nothing from you, Soren.”
We stare at each other, locked in a silent standoff. Then she shoves past me, yanking the closet door open.
“I have work to do,” she mutters.
And just like that, she’s gone.
I exhale, staring at the empty space she left behind.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to get what I want.
***
I wake up to sunlight streaming through the blinds, slanting across the bed in sharp golden lines. The warmth on my skin is pleasant, but my mind is already pulling away from it, ticking through the day ahead.
I drag a hand down my face and sit up. The sheets are tangled around my legs, a mess of fabric from restless sleep. My body aches in that familiar way—too many long shifts, too little rest. But there’s no time to dwell on it.
Marigold.
I glance at the clock. 6:30 AM. Marigold needs to be up soon.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand and stretch, rolling out the stiffness in my shoulders before heading to the bathroom. The cool tile is a shock against my bare feet, waking me up fully. I splash cold water on my face, grip the edges of the sink, and let out a slow breath.
Talia’s words from yesterday still linger. The rejection. The way she didn’t even think about it before shutting me down.
I shake it off.
Not important. Not now.
I go through the motions of my morning routine—brush my teeth, a quick shower, towel-dry my hair, and pull on a fresh shirt and jeans. The house is quiet except for the occasional creak of wood settling.
I make my way to Marigold’s room.
Her door is slightly open. I push it wider, stepping inside. The room is a whirlwind of pink and chaos—stuffed animals piled on a chair, sketchbooks scattered across the desk, a blanket half on the bed, half on the floor. The antithesis of my own room. But somehow, I cherish it. Balance to my control.
Marigold’s curled up in the middle of the mattress, hair a wild halo around her head. Peaceful. Soft breaths. For a moment, I pause, simply watching her sleep.
She deserves the world.
I can’t let them take her from me.
I walk over and tap her shoulder lightly. “Goldie, time to get up.”
She groans and burrows deeper into the pillow. “Five more minutes.”
“You said that yesterday,” I remind her, amused. “And the day before that.”
She peeks at me with one eye, scowling. “You have no proof.”
I huff a laugh, then lean down, bracing my hands on the mattress. “Come on, kid. Up.”
She flops onto her back, dramatic. “School is so overrated.”
“I agree. Let’s drop out and move to the mountains.”
Her eyes brighten. “Really?”
“No.”
Marigold groans again, but finally sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Get dressed. I’ll make breakfast,” I say, ruffling her hair before heading back to the kitchen.
By the time she stumbles in wearing her uniform, I’ve already set a bowl of cereal on the counter.
I pour myself a coffee, black and scalding, while she wolfs down her food.
I check the clock. 7:10 AM. The new nanny should be here soon. Hopefully, this one keeps it together. I can’t risk Lisa’s parents catching wind of me having to fire yet another caretaker for Marigold.
The doorbell rings on cue.
Marigold perks up. “Is that the new nanny?”
“Probably.”
I take my coffee with me to the door, glancing through the peephole before pulling it open.
A woman stands on the porch, neatly dressed in dark jeans and a light blue cardigan. She’s middle-aged, dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her face is calm, professional.
She offers a polite smile. “Good morning. I’m Roselyn. The agency sent me.”
I nod, stepping back. “Come in.”
She enters, taking in the space with a quick, assessing glance.
I motion toward the kitchen. “This is Marigold.”
Marigold grins up at her. “Hi.”
Roselyn smiles back. “Nice to meet you.”
I cross my arms. “She gets out of school at three. You’ll pick her up and stay with her until I get home. That could be early evening, could be late. You’ll have to be flexible. My last nanny was not. I will not tolerate that a second time.”
“Understood,” Roselyn says smoothly.
“She doesn’t have any allergies. Likes to draw, hates math, and if she asks for more than two cookies after dinner, she’s manipulating you.”
“Lies!” Marigold gasps, horrified.
Roselyn chuckles, but it’s quick and contained. “I can handle that.”
“Good.” I glance at the time again. 7:25. “I’ll be dropping her off this morning. You can start after school pickup.”
“Sounds good. It was lovely to meet you Marigold.
Marigold hops off the stool, grabbing her backpack. “See you later, Roselyn! Dad, let’s roll.”
I turn back to Roselyn. “Spare keys are on the counter if you need them. House rules are simple: Don’t let her con you into anything, and don’t break anything valuable.”
“I’ve been a nanny for ten years, Dr. Calloway. I think I can manage.”
Her tone is polite, but firm. I study her for a beat, then nod. “We’ll see.”
I motion for Marigold to follow, grabbing my own keys on the way out.
The morning air is crisp, a slight bite of cold as we step onto the driveway. I unlock the car, and Marigold climbs in, chattering about a class project while I start the engine.
We pull out onto the road, and drive away from the quiet of the suburbs into the city. Horns, the rush of traffic, the faint scent of coffee and asphalt in the air.
Marigold hums along to the radio, swinging her legs.
“You okay with Roselyn, Goldie?”
She shrugs. “She seems nice.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to test her patience.”
She grins, all innocence. “Me? Never.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. This kid.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull up in front of the school.
“Alright, troublemaker. Out you go.”
Marigold unbuckles, then pauses, looking at me seriously. “You will be home tonight, right?”
Guilt twists in my gut. “I’ll try.”
“Okay…” But she sounds like she expected that answer.
And then she’s out the door, running toward the entrance, blending into the wave of kids.
I watch until she disappears inside.
Then, I exhale, pull back onto the road, and head for the hospital.
***
The clock reads 4:03 PM when my phone rings.
I barely glance at it, already reaching for a patient’s chart. Pediatrics is a blur—flashing monitors, the sharp tang of antiseptic, the constant beep of vitals. A typical shift.
But then I see the caller ID: Roselyn.
I frown, answering. “Yeah?”
Her voice is tight. “Dr. Calloway, thank goodness. I was having trouble reaching you. I—Marigold fell. She—she slipped on a wet floor.”
Everything in me goes still.
“What?”
“She hit her head. She’s awake, but—”
“Is she able to answer you? Tell you her name; where she is?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the static in my brain.
“Yes, but she says it hurts. She looks a little pale.”
My stomach knots. “How hard did she fall?”
“I don’t know. One second she was running, the next—”
“Bring her here. ER. Now.”
“O-okay, yes, but I should tell you that I called—”
I hang up before she can finish.
My fingers grip the phone so tight it might snap. The room narrows, everything around me fading.
Marigold.
I move before I even think, striding toward the nurses' station.
“Page Dr. Patel to take over my cases,” I order one of the nurses, already ripping off my gloves. “I need to be in Emergency.”
She blinks. “Is everything—?”
“Just do it.”
I don’t wait for a response. I snatch my coat off the back of a chair and shove my arms into the sleeves. My pulse is hammering, breath short.
I know injuries. I know head trauma. I’ve seen the worst case scenarios a hundred times. Intercranial swelling. Hemorrhage. Stroke. Death.
What if—
No.
I push the thought away and move faster.
***
The next fifteen minutes are unbearable.
I pace the entrance, jaw clenched, heart pounding. Every time the sliding doors open, my breath catches—only to release in frustration when it’s not them.
“She’ll be alright, Calloway,” Dr. Savoie, the ER attending says.
“She better be,” I snap.
She tosses a knowing glance to one of her nurses, still working on a chart with an ease that unsettles me.
Then, finally, Roselyn rushes inside, holding Marigold’s hand.
She looks small. Too small. Her cheeks are pale, her lower lip wobbles. There’s a bandage just above her eyebrow, stark against her skin.
I’m moving before I can think. “Marigold.”
Her eyes find me, glassy and wide. “Dad.”
I crouch instantly, scanning her face, her pupils, her expression. “Where does it hurt?”
She swallows. “My head.”
I rest a hand against her cheek. She’s cold. Not dangerously, but enough to send another spike of fear through me. Savoie and a nurse close ranks around me, Savoie gutsy enough to remind me that I cannot be my own daughter’s doctor right now.
I ignore her.
“Did you black out?” I ask Marigold.
She shakes her head. “No. But everything kinda spun for a minute.”
My throat is tight. “I’m sorry,” Roselyn rushes. “She was running to get the remote, and—”
“I don’t care how it happened.” My voice is clipped. “I care about fixing it.”
She flinches. I exhale, forcing myself to ease up. “Thank you for getting her here.”
Roselyn nods, looking guilty.
I lift Marigold easily into my arms. She tucks her face against my shoulder, and something in my chest pulls painfully tight.
“Calloway,” Dr. Savoie warns.
“I can carry my own daughter,” I snap. Softer, to Marigold, “Don’t worry, Goldie. I’ve got you,” I press a kiss to her hair.