Symphony Misses Daddy
Melody stepped through the grand double doors of the Marshall estate just after six in the evening, the day’s exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.
She carried a white paper box tied with pink string in one hand... fresh pastries from the little French patisserie downtown: pain au chocolat, raspberry tartlets, and tiny vanilla éclairs she knew Symphony adored.
Her blazer was unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, long dark hair slightly tousled from the wind. She kicked off her heels in the foyer and padded barefoot across the marble toward the living room, already smiling in anticipation.
The vast living room glowed softly under warm lamps and the last of the sunset filtering through tall windows.
Symphony sat cross-legged on the thick cream rug near the fireplace, surrounded by a half-built block tower and her plush lamb.
Sally knelt beside her, helping stack a wobbly red block, both of them laughing quietly until they heard Melody’s footsteps.
“Mommy!”
Symphony’s face lit up for half a second, then dimmed again, small shoulders slumping.
Melody’s smile faltered.
She crossed the room quickly, dropping to her knees on the rug beside her daughter, setting the pastry box down.
“Hi, my sweet girl,” she said softly, brushing a curl from Symphony’s cheek. “I brought you something special from the bakery. Look, pain au chocolat and your favorite éclairs.”
Symphony’s eyes widened at the box. She reached out, small fingers tugging at the string.
Melody untied it carefully and lifted the lid.
The sweet scent of butter, chocolate, and vanilla rose between them.
“Here,” Melody said, picking up a small pain au chocolat and breaking off a flaky corner. “First bite for the princess.”
Symphony took it, nibbled once, then set it down on the rug without eating more.
Melody’s heart sank.
She exchanged a quick glance with Sally, who gave a small, worried shake of her head.
Melody leaned closer, voice gentle.
“What’s wrong, baby? You’re so quiet today.”
Symphony stared at the pastry, then up at Melody. Her lower lip trembled.
“I miss Daddy.”
Melody frowned, confusion flickering across her face. She looked up at Sally.
“Did Christian come today? To see her?”
Sally nodded once.
“He stopped by this afternoon. Brought her favorite storybook and played for an hour. She was happy while he was here.”
Melody turned back to Symphony, cupping her small face gently.
“Then why, baby? If Daddy came to see you today?”
Symphony’s eyes filled.
“I miss home,” she whispered. “I want to go back.”
Melody stared at her.
“But… it’s only been five days.”
Symphony’s voice grew smaller.
“I want to go home. I miss Daddy. Will you take me?”
Melody’s chest tightened. She searched her daughter’s face, those big hazel eyes, so much like Christian’s, shimmering with tears she was trying not to let fall.
“Don’t you want to live with Mommy?” Melody asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Symphony nodded slowly, uncertain.
“I do… but I want Daddy too. I want to go back.”
Melody exhaled shakily.
She pulled Symphony into her lap, wrapping her arms around the small body, resting her chin on top of her daughter’s head.
“Alright,” she said quietly, voice thick. “Two more days. Then I’ll take you myself, okay?”
Symphony sniffled.
“Two days?”
“Yes,” Melody promised, kissing her temple. “Two more days with Mommy. Then we’ll go home.”
“Okay…” Symphony whispered.
Melody held her closer, rocking her gently, eyes stinging.
She looked up at Sally over Symphony’s head... silent, pleading.
Sally gave a small, understanding nod.
Melody pressed another kiss to Symphony’s curls.
“I love you,” she whispered. “So much. More than anything.”
Symphony hugged her back, tight, small arms around Melody’s neck.
“I love you too, Mommy.”
They stayed like that for a long time, mother and daughter on the rug, pastry box forgotten beside them, the room quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Melody held her daughter close, breathing her in, memorizing the weight of her, the warmth, the way she fit perfectly against her chest.
Two more days.
Then she would take her back.
×××××××
Melody sat curled on the plush sectional in the vast living room of the Marshall estate, legs tucked beneath her, wearing a soft linen crop top that skimmed just above her navel and denim jeans.
The TV flickered with some mindless late-night talk show, sound low enough that it barely registered. She wasn’t really watching.
Across the room, Sally folded Symphony’s freshly laundered clothes... tiny pastel dresses, little socks with ruffles, a favorite flamingo pajama set, into neat stacks on the ottoman. The house was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the old estate settling.
Sally glanced up, catching Melody’s distant expression.
“Did you date anyone during this time, Miss Evans?” she asked gently.
Melody blinked, pulled back to the moment.
“No,” she said quietly. “Didn’t have enough time.”
Sally nodded, understanding flickering in her eyes.
“What about you?” Melody asked, tilting her head.
Sally smiled... small, almost shy.
“You won’t believe me.”
Melody arched an eyebrow, a faint spark of curiosity breaking through her fatigue.
“Hmm?”
“Marcus.”
Melody frowned for a second, processing.
“Marcus? Christian’s PA?”
Sally nodded, cheeks warming slightly.
“Yes.”
Melody’s lips parted in genuine surprise, then curved into a soft smile.
“That’s amazing. Marcus was such a nice guy.”
“Yes, he is,” Sally said, folding a tiny sweater with care. “So kind. Steady. He makes me laugh even when I’m exhausted.”
Melody’s smile grew.
“So is it serious?”
Sally’s eyes softened, fingers pausing on the fabric.
“Yes. I think he might propose soon.”
Melody’s expression warmed... real happiness for the other woman.
“That’s really nice. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Sally’s smile was grateful, almost relieved. She smoothed the last pair of socks, then hesitated. Her voice dropped. “I started resenting Mr. Holt when he divorced you. I thought there was nothing more cruel than separating a mother from her child that young.”
Melody listened quietly, gaze dropping to her lap.
“But then Marcus told me why he actually divorced you,” Sally continued. “And I realized… he’s not cruel. He was trying to protect you. We just didn’t see it.”
Melody’s head lifted slowly.
“What do you mean?”
Sally met her eyes. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Melody sat up straighter, pulse quickening.
“Marcus told me Mr. Holt divorced you to protect you from Mrs. Holt and Miss Quinn. He was devastated when they cut your hair. He filed the papers the very next day. Made it look like he was punishing you, but that wasn’t the reason.
He couldn’t stand watching them destroy you any longer.
He thought… letting you go was the only way to save you from them. ”
Melody’s breath caught.
She stared at Sally, the words landing like stones in still water.
“He kept those hair strands in his nightstand,” Sally added softly. “The ones they cut off you. He never threw them away. He loved you. Dearly. And when you vanished, he was so broken. He searched for you crazily... every lead, every rumor. He never stopped.”
Melody sank back against the cushions, hand rising unconsciously to her chest.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
The TV droned on in the background, forgotten.
Sally folded the last item in silence, then looked up again.
“He’s not the same man he was back then,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen it. The way he is with Symphony. The way he talks about you when he thinks no one’s listening. He regrets everything. And he’s trying to be better. For her. For you.”
Melody didn’t speak for a long moment.
Her eyes were distant, glistening.
She looked toward the staircase, toward the room where Symphony slept peacefully upstairs.
Then she looked back at Sally.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For telling me.”
Sally gave a small, kind smile.
“You deserve to know the truth.”
Melody nodded slowly.
The silence stretched, comfortable now, not heavy.
She rose from the couch. “I think… I need to think about this,” she said quietly.
Sally stood too, gathering the folded laundry.
“Take your time, Miss Evans. You’ve earned that.”
Melody gave her a small, grateful smile.
Then she turned and walked toward the stairs, carrying the weight of new truth in her chest.
And somewhere inside her, a crack that had been sealed for three yearsbegan, very quietly,to open again.
×××××××
Christian sat alone in the dimly lit home gym on the lower level of the Holt mansion, the only sounds the rhythmic clank of iron and the low hum of the ventilation system. The room smelled of rubber mats, metal, and the faint, sharp bite of cigarette smoke.
He was shirtless, sweat gleaming on his chest and shoulders, dark hair damp and falling into his eyes.
In his right hand, a 50-pound dumbbell rose and fell in slow, controlled curls, each rep deliberate, punishing.
In his left, a cigarette burned between his fingers, the ember glowing red every time he brought it to his lips for a drag.
Smoke curled lazily upward, disappearing into the shadows above.
His mind was on Melody.
The way she’d looked at him when he dropped Symphony off... guarded, beautiful, still carrying the same quiet fire he’d fallen for years ago. The way she’d kissed their daughter’s forehead and whispered something that made Symphony giggle.
He exhaled smoke through his nose, jaw tight.
The phone on the weight bench buzzed once.
He glanced at the screen.
Melody.
His heart lurched.
He set the dumbbell down with a soft thud, stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray, wiped his hands on the towel around his neck, and answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
A small, sleepy voice came through instead.
“Daddy?”
Christian’s entire body softened instantly.
“Hey, princess,” he said, voice dropping to that low, tender tone he used only with her. “What are you doing up so late?”
A tiny yawn crackled through the speaker.
“I woke up for dinner. Mommy said I could call you first.”
Christian smiled. “I’m glad you did. How was your day, baby?”
Symphony’s voice was muffled, like she was holding the phone too close to her mouth.
“We played with the cats. And Mommy brought pastries. But…”
She trailed off.
“But what, love?”
“I miss you,” she whispered. “I want you to read me the bunny story tonight.”
Christian closed his eyes, leaning back against the mirrored wall, the cool glass grounding him.
“I miss you too, sweetheart. So much. But Mommy’s taking such good care of you, isn’t she?”
“Mm-hm. She sings to me. Like you do. But… it’s not the same.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I know, baby. I know. But you’re having fun with Mommy, right?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “She’s pretty. And she smells like flowers. And she lets me have extra strawberries.”
Christian laughed quietly. “That’s my girl. You tell Mommy you want extra strawberries whenever you want them, okay?”
“Okay.”
A small pause.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, princess?”
“When are you coming to get me?”
Christian’s chest tightened.
“Soon, love. Very soon. But you like staying at Mommy’s big house, don’t you?”
“I like it… but I want you too.”
He pressed his palm to his eyes for a second, breathing steady.
“You’ve got me, baby. Always. I’m right here. I’ll talk to you every night, okay? And I’ll see you super soon. Promise.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
Symphony giggled. “Okay. I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you more, Symphony. More than all the stars and all the bunnies and all the strawberries in the whole world.”
A soft rustle, Melody’s voice in the background, gentle.
“Time for dinner, sweetheart. Say goodnight to Daddy.”
“Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, my princess. Daddy loves you.”
The line went quiet for a second, then Melody’s voice came on. “She’s going to have dinner now.”
Christian exhaled. “Thank you for letting her call.”
A pause.
“She asked for you,” Melody said simply. “I wasn’t going to say no.”
Another beat of silence.
“Melody—”
“I have to go,” she cut in gently. “Goodnight, Christian.”
The call ended.
Christian sat there in the quiet gym, phone still pressed to his ear for a few seconds longer.
Then he lowered it slowly.
He stared at the blank screen.
Sweat cooled on his skin.
The cigarette in the ashtray had burned down to ash.
He set the phone down, picked up the dumbbell again, and started another set... slow, steady, punishing.
But this time, every rep felt different.
×××××××