Chapter 11 Daisy
The train rolled lazily through the green landscape. Warm sunlight cast flickering shadows across the seats. I leaned back, letting the steady rhythm of the wheels on the tracks settle into me. Staring out the window, I pulled my phone from my bag and typed a message to Jenn.
I slid my earbuds in and was about to open my music when my phone vibrated again.
The message sat on the screen like a warning.
I slid into the car, greeted by Jenn’s beaming smile. She handed me a steaming cup of coffee.
“I got you your favorite—Mr. Latte Macchiato with extra foam,” she said as she pulled out of the parking spot.
“I know exactly why you’re my best friend,” I replied, taking a deep sip. The warmth of the coffee spread through me.
“It’s so good to see you again, Daisy. We have so much to catch up on,” Jenn said, glancing over before fixing her eyes back on the road.
“I have a lot to tell you, too,” I answered. “But you go first. What happened with you and Mike?”
Jenn sighed and turned the radio down. “Where should I start? It was a mutual decision. We realized we just don’t work as a couple. We argue too much, see things too differently. But as friends, we’re fine. So we decided to leave it at that.”
“So you split on good terms? And how do you feel about it?”
“Actually, pretty good,” Jenn said, sipping her coffee. “I have so much to study that I barely have time to think about it. Mike promised he’d still help me with that.”
I nodded. “That shows how strong your friendship really is.”
Jenn smiled. “Yeah, maybe we never should’ve been a couple. By the way, I recently ran into your ex.”
My heart skipped. “Which one?”
“The smaller asshole of the two.”
“So Oliver.”
“We talked for a while. He said he misses you. He really wants to see you, Daisy.”
I stared out the window, trying to sort through my feelings. “Oliver really hurt me. But he was also the only one—besides you—who was there for me when I was at my lowest.”
Jenn nodded. “I know. He said he hasn’t been able to forget you. And that he really wants to talk to you.”
I exhaled. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“It would take your mind off this Damian situation. Plus, Oliver looks even better now. He’s been working out, and it shows.”
Jenn put a hand on my arm. “So what’s going on with you and Damian? Is everything okay?”
I shrugged. “It’s complicated. This constant back-and-forth is driving me insane.
Sometimes he’s charming, attentive, even loving.
The next moment he’s cold, distant—like I imagined the whole thing.
I never know where I stand with him. And that’s exactly what keeps me hooked.
When we flew to Rome, we talked for almost the entire flight.
I love that he’s as passionate about history as I am.
But just when I think I can finally grasp him, he slips away again. ”
“But you’re not together?”
“No. I don’t know. Not the way I’d like us to be.”
“Daisy, you need to be careful,” Jenn said, her voice heavy with concern. “Especially because I know guys like him are exactly your type.”
“Guys like him?”
“Charming, handsome, intelligent, manipulative, deeply complex, dangerous men.”
“Wow. Nailed it. Have you memorized Damian’s résumé?”
“I’d add possessive, self-assured, and power-obsessed.”
Jenn sighed, clearly worried. “I just worry about you. We’ve known each other forever, and in all that time, you’ve never had a single healthy relationship.
And I get it, I really do. I know your family, your history.
But I don’t want you to lose yourself completely.
Just last week we had a psychology lecture, and the professor could’ve described your behavior word for word: emotional dependency, a need for validation.
And relationships with men like Damian? They’re often rooted in unresolved childhood trauma and a sense of worthlessness. ”
“You had a psychology lecture in veterinary school?”
“No, it was an open lecture. Anyone could attend if they signed up.”
“I’m proud of you,” I said—just as a white SUV cut hard into our lane without signaling.
“Watch out!” I shouted.
Jenn slammed the brakes. Half the coffee splashed across my shirt.
“Ah! Shit!” I gasped, holding the cup away from me.
“What the hell?!” Jenn snapped, rolling down the window. “Ever heard of a turn signal, you jerk?!” she yelled after the other driver, who kept going like nothing happened.
Jenn turned to me, her face full of regret. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s not your fault.”
“What an asshole.”
“You reacted well.”
She steered into a side street, slower now. “By the way, I baked cookies,” she said. “This weekend is all about movies, partying, and not thinking about Damian Miller.”
Jenn and I pushed through the dancing crowd in the club, the music pounding against my chest. A wave of nostalgia hit me.
This had been my favorite place during college, and it felt good to be back.
The air was thick with shisha smoke and perfume.
Everywhere I looked, people were drinking and moving, lost in the rhythm.
“There they are!” Jenn shouted, pointing to our old crew at a big corner table. We waved and laughed as we made our way over.
“Daisy! Jenn!” voices called out. I hugged my friends tightly.
“It’s so good to see you all again,” I said, taking a beer from Peter. I sat beside Jenn and let my gaze sweep over the familiar faces. It felt like no time had passed.
“So, how do you like it in Cold Spring?” Peter asked, clinking his glass with mine.
“It’s really nice.”
“Made any new friends?” Linda asked. She’d graduated with me and now worked at the Railroad Historical Center in Greenwood.
“Not really yet. I’m working a lot.”
“And where?” Peter asked.
“In an antique shop.”
“That sounds cool. Do you sell the antiques there?”
“No. I restore them. I also research their origins.”
“That’s totally your world, then.”
“Are you well paid?” Tom asked. He’d started college a few semesters after me.
“I can’t complain.”
“That’s the least they can do—pay you well,” Jenn said, after ordering from the waiter. “The guy Daisy works for is filthy rich. He even took her to Rome in his private jet.”
My friends’ eyes widened.
“That’s amazing. Seriously.” Linda leaned closer. “What’s his name?”
“Damian Miller,” Jenn said for me.
“Damian Miller from Miller & Co. Antiques is your boss?!” Tom exclaimed. “Honey, I’ve read articles about him—he’s insanely hot.”
“OMG, Tom, you’re right. How hot is he, seriously?” Linda said, turning her phone to show a picture of Damian.
“He really is a handsome man,” Marianna said. She was in her first semester of veterinary medicine with Jenn.
“And you flew to Rome with him?” Linda asked.
If only they knew what else had happened. My cheeks burned. I took a long sip of beer to hide the heat creeping up my neck.
“It was just a business trip,” I muttered.
Jenn laughed beside me. I shot her a warning look.
“Didn’t his girlfriend mind you flying to Rome with him?” Linda asked.
“His girlfriend?” My voice caught.
Linda turned the phone back toward me and swiped to the next picture—Damian and a stunning blonde, laughing, leaning close. Their chemistry was undeniable.
“Let me see,” I said, taking the phone. One swipe. Another. Then I froze.
I knew her instantly. Silvia Mason. Her fingers were wrapped around Damian’s hand like they belonged there. His arm draped across her shoulders—so natural, so familiar. No posing. No effort to make it look perfect. Just real. As if it had happened a hundred times before.
The pictures didn’t cut like knives. They seared like hot iron against skin.
The date beneath the photo—yesterday—was the worst part. He’d been there. With her. At the exhibition he’d wanted to take me to.
I forced my face into a mask as my fingers trembled. I handed the phone back to Linda, my expression flat, unreadable.
I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel rage. I didn’t even want an explanation. What I felt was emptiness. And the sense that I’d had enough.
I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and opened the chat.
20:41 – Daisy: I never want to see you again. And whatever this was between us… it’s over.
Jenn, who understood without a word, took the beer from my hand, pushed a stronger drink into it, and rested her palm on my shoulder.
“To Daisy and the good old days,” she said, raising her glass.
“Maybe you’ll come back to Woodstock for good one day,” Tom added, and the group lifted their glasses in agreement.
I forced a smile and drank. Then I sent Damian a screenshot of him holding Silvia’s hand. For a moment, I thought about adding I quit, but that felt reckless. I wasn’t reckless. I was tired.
20:44 – Daisy: Hope it was at least worth it for you.
I slipped my phone into my bag. The alcohol spread through me, softening the weight in my chest. We laughed, told old stories, tried to crawl back into a life that had once seemed simpler.
I drank, I smiled, I talked—all while trying not to think of Damian.
But it didn’t work. The second my phone vibrated, I reached for it.
Deep down, I still hoped—still believed—that he meant it. Meant us. Foolish, na?ve girl.
20:57 – Damian: Where are you?
I stared at the message, as if it couldn’t be real. Nothing followed. No Wait. No It’s not what you think. Just: Where are you?
I shoved the phone back into my bag, swearing I wouldn’t look again tonight.
But half an hour later, I broke that vow.
Nothing. Another hour passed. Still nothing.
Between every sip, my eyes flicked to the screen.
That pathetic hope—maybe, just maybe—another message would come.
Something. Anything. But the silence stretched on.
And in his silence was everything I didn’t want to hear.
Maybe I had never been enough. Maybe I had just been… convenient.
Something in me cracked quiet.
“Daisy, look who just joined us.” Jenn’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I followed her finger.
Oliver—my ex—had just walked in, pulling every eye toward him. Tall, muscular, with that careless aura that made him even more magnetic. The way he greeted everyone, easy and familiar, made it seem like he’d never left.
Jenn tugged my hand, pulling me toward him. “Hey, Oliver!” she called. “Look who’s here visiting us.”
Oliver turned, smiling with that mix of familiarity and warmth. “Daisy.”
“Oliver,” I said, as surprise and memories—both sweet and brutal—flooded back.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, hugging me, studying me with a look that lingered. “You look fantastic.” He motioned for me to sit. “Where are you working now? Where do you live?”
I smiled faintly, taking a sip of my drink. “I work at an antique shop in Cold Spring. I live close by.”
“Jenn didn’t give me your new number, and I couldn’t find you on Instagram.”
“Deleted my account.”
Oliver frowned. “Because of Alex?”
I nodded. “He kept making fake accounts. Following me. Messaging. Leaving comments under my pictures.”
Oliver’s hand brushed my cheek. That old familiarity, that warmth I’d once drowned in, stirred inside me. Oliver had never been just anyone. He’d been there when no one else was. He’d held me when I was at my lowest.
We caught up, traded stories, laughed like nothing had ever broken us.
For a moment, it felt like the past had been erased.
But then I looked at him and felt the tug in my chest. Not pain.
Not anger. Just the reminder that familiarity doesn’t promise safety.
Even the ones who catch you sometimes let go first. He had cheated.
And no matter his regret now, back then, he had left.
Eventually, Oliver took my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.
We moved together, bodies pressed close, falling back into the rhythm we once knew.
My heart thudded, remembering how it used to be.
After a while, he steered me into a darker corner of the club.
The music here was muffled, the bass only a pulse in the walls.
Light spilled gold across his face, too flattering, too forgiving.
He stepped in—closer than he should—his hand sliding down to my hip.
“I missed you,” he said, voice low, blurred by alcohol. His lips found mine.
I froze.
Did I want this? Him? Maybe it was the ghost of us. Maybe the craving for something familiar. Or maybe it was just weakness. Maybe it wasn’t him I wanted at all.