11. Talia
Chapter 11
Talia
I don’t expect to see him today. I’ve already made peace with the awkward brush-ins, the stiff hellos, the unspoken tension that clings to the space between us like fog. But then there’s a knock at my door. Firm. Familiar.
I don’t move immediately. I stare at the wood, heart already pounding like it’s trying to claw its way up my throat.
Another knock. “Talia, it’s me.”
I exhale slowly, slide off the couch, and walk to the door. The rain outside has stopped, but the wind still carries a wet scent through the windows. I unlock the door, and there’s Soren. Dressed down in a dark t-shirt and jeans, no white coat in sight. But he still carries himself with the same seriousness, the same weight in his eyes.
“Yes?” I keep my hand on the doorknob.
“Can we talk?” His voice is tired. Not the kind that comes from lack of sleep, but from carrying too much for too long.
I step aside wordlessly and gesture for him to come in. He nods, brushing past me. I catch a trace of his cologne—familiar now in a way that makes my chest tighten.
Soren doesn’t sit. Just stands in the center of my small living room like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
I fold my arms. “So. What is it this time?”
His eyes flick to mine. “I know you said no before.”
I sigh and sink into the couch, not bothering to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“But things have changed,” he adds.
“Things are always changing,” I murmur.
“Talia.” He runs a hand through his hair. “My in-laws are coming. They’re not just visiting. They’re poking around. Asking questions. Digging. I don’t think they believe me.”
“They never believed you,” I say flatly. “You lied to them.”
“I had to, and you agreed,” he says sharply. Then softens. “I… didn’t expect it to go this far.”
I glare at him. “Really? The great Dr. Soren Calloway—surprised.”
He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, staring at me like I’m supposed to offer him some kind of lifeline.
I rise from the couch, pacing slowly. The wooden floor creaks under my feet. “You want me to move in. Pretend we’re happily married. Play house.””
“It’s not a game.” His voice is suddenly low. Almost defensive.
“Oh, now it matters?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He steps closer. Just enough that I can see the frustration building under his skin. “I know it’s unfair. I know I’m asking too much. But Talia… they’re not going to stop trying to take her away.”
That makes me hesitate. He sees it. Latches onto it.
“They don’t know you. They think I can’t handle it. They think I’m too broken, or too distracted, or too—”
“Alone?” I say quietly.
He nods.
I lower my gaze, fingers curling into my palms. “Marigold deserves better than lies and games.”
“She deserves stability,” he says. “She’s already been through enough.”
“And you think this… this arrangement is stability?”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
I don’t speak for a moment. My throat feels tight. My heart confused. A part of me wants to walk away. Draw the line and keep it drawn. But another part—the part that watches the way he watches his daughter, the part that heard her say “Please stay”—that part aches.
“She’s not the only one who’s been through stuff, you know,” I whisper.
His jaw tenses. “I know.”
“No, you don’t,” I laugh bitterly. “You think I’m just this nurse who showed up at the right time and decided to play fairy godmother. You don’t know a thing about the kind of relationships I’ve had. About how hard I worked to build a life I didn’t need to explain to anyone.”
“I’m not trying to take that from you.”
“But you are. With every favor. Every fake story. Every ask.”
He looks at me then. Really looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
It’s simple. Honest. And it pisses me off because it’s exactly what I wanted to hear.
I sit again, rubbing my forehead. “And what happens after they leave, Soren?”
“We end it. No more pretending.”
“And if they don’t believe it? If they keep coming?”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
Nope.
“I need space,” I say.
“You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You have a couch?”
He snorts. “Kind of.”
“Aren’t we supposed to sleep in the same room since they would be watching us?”
He sighs. “I’ll take care of it.”
I roll my eyes. “I want clear rules.”
“Name them.”
“No unnecessary touching.”
He chuckles. “Done.”
“I don’t clean your mess.”
“Noted.”
“And if Marigold asks questions…”
“We tell her whatever makes her smile.”
Silence falls again. Thick. Uncomfortable. But not angry.
I finally nod. “Fine. But this is temporary.”
“Of course.”
“And if you snore—”
“I don’t.”
“You better not.”
He smiles. It’s small. But real. I don’t smile back. Not fully, but something shifts.
***
Moving in with Soren was never part of the plan.
But here I am, boxes scattered in the guest room. It’s just me and a few squares of cardboard sitting in Soren’s home, an unfamiliar space that I’m trying to fit into.
“Do you need help with that?” Soren’s voice cuts through the silence, and I glance up to see him standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, watching me as I wrestle with a box full of books.
I freeze for a moment, a mixture of frustration and guilt twisting in my stomach. Moving was supposed to be a simple task—throw everything in boxes, unpack, and pretend like everything’s normal. But the air feels thicker here. Every step I take is like sinking—sinking further into this mess.
I bite back a sigh, my hands gripping the edge of the cardboard. “No, I’ve got it,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “Thanks.”
Soren’ eyes narrow as he watches me struggle. He’s trying to help, but I’m not ready to let him. I don’t know why I’m resisting. Maybe it’s because I’m still not sure about all of this—about living with him. About how it feels like we’re walking on the edge of something we can’t define.
“I’m just trying to make this easier,” he says, his tone gentle. I don’t want his gentleness right now. It feels like pity.
“I don’t need you to make it easier,” I mutter under my breath, tugging a bit too hard at the box. The lid pops open, spilling half the books onto the floor. I wince.
He’s silent for a moment, then crouches down beside me, picking up a book. “I know this isn’t ideal,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing against mine as he hands me a book. His touch sends a shiver up my spine, and I have to remind myself that I’m not here for that. I’m here for Marigold.
I take the book and stack it on top of the others, keeping my eyes on the floor. “I didn’t expect any of this,” I admit, the weight of my words sinking in.
Soren doesn’t respond immediately. I can feel the tension between us, thick and heavy.
“I didn’t expect it either,” he says finally. “But here we are.” He pauses. “You know, this might be harder than I thought. But… I’m still glad you’re here.”
There it is again. That sincerity in his voice. I can’t decide if it comforts me or unsettles me more.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, trying to sound sure, even though I’m not. I glance up at him, only to catch him looking at me with an intensity I can’t ignore. I shift uncomfortably, dropping my gaze back to the box.
We finish picking up the books in silence, both of us avoiding eye contact. The tension between us grows with every passing second. But it’s not the kind of tension I want. It’s the kind of tension that feels like something’s being left unsaid—something we both know but don’t want to acknowledge.
Finally, I stand up, dusting off my hands. “I think that’s enough for today,” I say, my voice quiet. “I’ll unpack the rest later.”
Soren doesn’t argue. He just nods, standing too. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say more, but nothing comes out. His lips press together in a thin line, and I know exactly how he feels. We’re both in over our heads.
“We should go get dinner,” he says, the suggestion almost like an order, though he’s trying to mask it with a smile. “Marigold is at ballet. Roselyn will pick her up. It’s… been a long day.”
I weigh my options. I could stay here and continue unpacking, or I could leave the house, leave the weird tension between us. The idea of just escaping for a while sounds appealing, but I also know that I’m avoiding something.
“Fine,” I say, exhaling sharply. “I guess I could use a break.”
“Great.” He gives a small nod, clearly relieved. “Let’s go.”
We end up at a small, cozy restaurant down the street. It’s the kind of place where the air smells of garlic bread and fresh basil, and the buzz of conversation mingles with soft jazz music. The clinking of silverware and the sizzle of food being brought to tables fill the space, but the silence between us is still heavy.
We sit across from each other, the table feeling wider than it is, and for a moment, I can’t bring myself to say anything. Soren doesn’t speak either, his eyes scanning the menu, but I can tell he’s not really reading. He’s waiting for me to break the silence.
“Why do you think this is so hard?” I ask finally, the question slipping out before I can stop myself.
Soren looks up, eyes locking onto mine. There’s something in his gaze—almost like he’s trying to find the right words. “Because it’s not just about moving in, Talia. It’s about everything that’s happened. The past. What’s changed between us. The fact that we’re not the same people we were before all this.”
I’m taken aback by the raw honesty in his voice. It’s not what I expected from cold Dr. Soren Calloway. He’s always so guarded, closed off. But here he is, speaking openly about the things that have been swirling in my mind.
“Maybe,” I admit softly. “But I’m still here.”
He nods, his gaze softening. “And I’m glad for that.”
The wildest impulse to reach across the table and take his hand makes my palm itch, but I resist. I have to remind myself this is still Soren Calloway. It doesn’t matter how much uncertainty is between us. How much we haven’t said aloud.
“So what now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Soren looks at me for a long moment, then finally answers. “We figure the rest out. Together.”
***
The house feels too quiet, too still, even though Soren and Marigold are somewhere in the back, probably in her room. I can hear the soft murmur of Soren’s voice as he reads to her. There’s something so gentle in the way he speaks in his home, so tender that it catches me off guard every time. I never even imagined Soren as the kind of man who would read stories to a child. Just another side of him that I can’t seem to ignore.
I’m standing in the kitchen, a glass of water in my hand, staring at the sink where I haven’t put away the dishes yet. It’s like my mind is moving faster than my body, trying to make sense of everything. There’s a weird pull I’m feeling every time I’m around Soren, a pull that I can’t explain.
I stand there, frozen, listening as he reads softly to Marigold. The words are distant, but the tone is so unlike the man I’ve seen in the hospital, or the one who’s walked into the room with that guarded, angry look in his eyes. Here, he’s something else entirely. Someone softer.
I walk toward the door that leads to the hallway. Slowly, carefully. My feet don’t make a sound on the hardwood floor. I peek around the corner, barely able to breathe as I watch them. Marigold is curled up in her bed, her small hand holding the edge of her blanket, and Soren is sitting beside her, a picture book open in his hands.
He doesn’t even know I’m here.
His face is relaxed, his eyes glinting with warmth. A rare, devastating smile slips across his lips when he reads a funny part to Marigold—it’s so small, but it’s there. I don’t think he realizes how much of himself he lets out in that moment. It hits me like a wave, the realization of who Soren must’ve been before.
Soren wasn’t always this cold, this distant. He must’ve been someone else. Someone who laughed more, smiled more. His voice, that soft timbre as he reads aloud, it doesn’t match the unfeeling, calculated surgeon I’ve gotten to know over the past few weeks. And in that moment, I realize I’m not just living with a man who lost his wife. I’m living with the ghost of the man he used to be.
I want to turn away, to step back from this, but I can’t move. It’s like I’m stuck in place, frozen in this vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for. Soren’s presence fills the hallway.
And when his eyes meet mine, he doesn’t flinch. He just stops reading, like he expected me to be here at some point. It’s not like he’s embarrassed or anything. No, more like he’s waiting for me to acknowledge what’s between us.
The way I’ve been avoiding him, the way he’s kept me at arm’s length... it’s all in this moment. Soren looks at me, that rare smile still lingering at the corner of his lips, and in his eyes, there’s something different. Something sad. Almost resigned.
“Sorry,” I say before I even realize I’ve spoken. My heart is racing, and I have no idea what to say next. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Soren stands up from the chair, his long frame casting a shadow over the room. “It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady. “Marigold’s asleep.”
I don’t know what to do with myself. I should leave. I should just walk away, but I’m frozen in the doorway, my mind still reeling from the glimpse of the man Soren used to be. It’s not fair. I wasn’t supposed to see this. I wasn’t supposed to care.
“I didn’t know you used to do this,” I murmur, trying to fill the silence.
He shrugs slightly, his gaze flickering to Marigold. “Used to?” His voice drops even lower. “I still do.”
And that’s the moment when I realize I’m in trouble. I’m not just living with Soren because I’m trying to protect Marigold. I’m not just here because it seemed like the right thing to do. I’m here because—somewhere, deep down—I want to stay. I want to see if I can uncover more of the man behind the walls, the man who smiled that devastating smile as he read to his daughter.
But I can’t keep walking this line between what I want, and what’s best for me.
“I’ll let you finish,” I say, forcing a smile, even though it doesn’t reach my eyes. I step back, slowly, feeling like I’ve intruded on something sacred.
Soren watches, but he doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t say anything else.
I move down the hallway, back into the kitchen, and lean against the counter. My hands tremble as I set the glass down, my chest tight, too full of things I can’t quite name. I feel like I’m drowning, and the only thing that’s keeping me afloat is the same man who’s slowly tearing me apart.