Let Me Try Again
For you vsadh067
Christian lay propped against the headboard in his bedroom, fever still burning low under his skin, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy.
The room was dim, curtains half-drawn against the gray afternoon light, but Symphony had insisted on “playing quiet” with him.
She sat cross-legged on the duvet, surrounded by a small circle of her favorite toys: Lambie, the lavender bunny Flopsy, the doll Star, and a handful of wooden blocks.
Thomas had brought back all her toys a while ago.
Despite the ache in his chest and the pounding in his temples, he forced a smile every time she looked up at him. He couldn’t say no to her.
She was stacking blocks into a wobbly tower, tongue poking out in concentration.
“Daddy, look! It’s a castle for Flopsy and Star.”
Christian reached over slowly, careful not to jostle the fever, and steadied the top block before it toppled.
“Perfect castle, princess. They’re gonna love it.”
Symphony beamed, then crawled closer, resting her head against his arm.
“Daddy… why was Mommy mad yesterday?”
Christian’s breath caught.
He looked down at her, big hazel eyes wide and innocent, waiting for him to make sense of something she didn’t understand.
He swallowed, throat dry and sore.
“Mommy wasn’t mad at you, baby,” he said softly, brushing a curl from her forehead. “She was… really sad. And scared.”
Symphony frowned, hugging Lambie tighter.
“But she locked the door. And she yelled. And I cried.”
Christian’s heart twisted painfully.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I’m so sorry you felt scared.
Mommy loves you so much, so much more than she can even say.
She wanted you to stay with her a little longer.
She’s missed you for a really long time, like…
forever. She just wanted to keep you close.
Sometimes when grown-ups are scared of losing someone they love, they do things that aren’t right.
But she didn’t mean to hurt you. She was trying to hold on too tight because she loves you that big. ”
Symphony blinked up at him, processing slowly.
“So… Mommy loves me big like you love me big?”
Christian nodded, throat tight.
“Even bigger, sweetheart. She carried you inside her tummy. She dreamed about you every day. She fought so hard to get back to you. She loves you more than all the stars and all the raindrops in the world.”
Symphony looked down at Lambie, stroking the plush ear thoughtfully.
“But I want to stay with you, Daddy.”
Christian’s eyes stung. He pulled her gently against his side, tucking her head under his chin.
“I want you to stay with me too, baby. Always. But Mommy needs you too. And you need her. Maybe… maybe we can find a way for you to have both. To spend time with Mommy and come home to Daddy. Would you like that?”
Symphony was quiet for a long moment.
Then she looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent.
“Can’t Mommy live here with us?”
Christian’s breath hitched.
He stared at his daughter, his beautiful, perfect daughter, who saw the world so simply, so purely.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, voice cracking.
“I wish it was that easy, princess,” he whispered.
“I wish Mommy could live here with us. I wish we could all be together. But… grown-ups sometimes make big mistakes, and it takes a long time to fix them. Mommy and Daddy have a lot to talk about. But no matter what happens, you’ll always have both of us.
I promise. You’ll never lose either one of us. ”
Symphony nodded slowly, accepting it the way only a child can... trusting completely.
“Okay, Daddy.”
She snuggled closer, small hand resting over his heart.
Christian wrapped both arms around her, holding her tight against his fever-hot chest.
He closed his eyes, tears slipping silently down his temples into his hair.
He didn’t know what came next.
He didn’t know if Melody would ever forgive him.
He didn’t know if they could ever be a family again.
×××××××
Christian stood in the kitchen of the Holt mansion, leaning heavily against the marble island, one hand braced on the edge to keep himself upright.
The fever still burned low and stubborn under his skin, chills alternating with waves of heat, but the antibiotics he’d taken twenty minutes earlier were finally starting to dull the sharpest edges.
He swallowed the last of a glass of water, throat raw from coughing and shouting in the rain the night before.
His phone sat on the counter in front of him.
He stared at Melody’s name on the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over the call button.
Then he pressed it.
Ringing.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
He exhaled shakily, rubbed his face with one hand, and called again.
Same thing... ringing, then nothing.
Third time.
He hit call before he could talk himself out of it.
It rang once… twice…
Then clicked.
But it wasn’t Melody’s voice.
“Christian.”
Margaret.
Her tone was calm. Controlled in the way only someone who had spent decades mastering composure could manage.
Christian’s heart dropped into his stomach.
“Where’s Melody?” he asked immediately, voice rough.
“She’s in the hospital,” Margaret said quietly. “She had a severe blood pressure spike this morning at the office. Dr. Aniston admitted her for monitoring. She’s stable now, meds brought it down, but she’s exhausted. They’re keeping her overnight.”
Christian’s knees nearly buckled. He gripped the counter harder.
“High BP?” he repeated, almost disbelieving. “How....?”
Margaret’s silence on the other end felt heavy.
“She’s been managing it for years,” she said finally. “Stress. Trauma. The body remembers what the mind tries to forget. Last night… was too much.”
Christian closed his eyes, forehead pressing against the cool marble.
“Is she… is she okay? Can I—”
“She’s sleeping now,” Margaret interrupted gently. “They gave her something to rest. But she’ll be awake soon. You can come. Room 1408, private wing. Just… be calm, Christian. She’s fragile right now. And she’s still angry. Don’t push.”
Christian nodded even though she couldn’t see it.
“I’m coming,” he said hoarsely. “I’m leaving now.”
He hung up.
For a second he just stood there, breath shallow, heart hammering against bruised ribs.
Then he moved.
He grabbed his keys, pulled on a hoodie over his T-shirt. He took the stairs two at a time, checked on Symphony (still napping peacefully in her room, Sally sitting nearby with a book), kissed her forehead softly, whispered “Daddy’ll be back soon, princess,” and ran out to the garage.
The rain had stopped, but the driveway was still slick, puddles reflecting the gray sky.
He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and peeled out.
The entire drive to the hospital, he gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
High blood pressure.
She had high blood pressure.
Because of him.
Because of everything he’d done.
Because of the stress, the pain, the years of fighting alone while he raised their daughter and pretended she didn’t exist.
He swallowed bile.
He didn’t deserve to see her.
But he had to.
He had to tell her again, that he was sorry.
That he was here.
That he wasn’t leaving.
Even if she told him to go.
Even if she hated him forever.
×××××××
Christian arrived at the hospital just after 3 p.m., still feverish and unsteady, hoodie pulled low over his head, hands shoved deep in his pockets to hide the tremors.
The private wing corridor was hushed... soft beeps from monitors, the faint squeak of nurses’ shoes, the sterile smell of antiseptic and coffee.
He paused outside room 1408.
Through the half-open door he could see Melody asleep in the bed, IV line taped to the back of her hand, face pale against the white pillow, breathing slow and even.
The monitors beside her showed steady lines: blood pressure 118/76 now, heart rate calm.
She looked small, fragile in a way that clawed at his chest.
Margaret sat in the chair beside her, silver hair catching the pale daylight through the blinds.
She looked up as Christian stepped inside.
He closed the door softly behind him.
Margaret studied him, his damp hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he swayed slightly on his feet.
“You look like hell,” she said quietly. Not unkind. Just factual.
Christian managed a weak half-smile.
“Feel like it too.” He nodded toward Melody. “How is she?”
“Stable,” Margaret replied. “They brought the pressure down. She’s exhausted. The doctor wants her here until tomorrow morning at least. Observation.”
Christian moved closer to the bed but didn’t sit. He stood at the footrail, hands gripping the metal, eyes fixed on Melody’s sleeping face.
Margaret watched him for a long moment.
“She’s been a BP patient since the delivery,” she said quietly.
Christian’s head jerked up.
Margaret continued, voice even.
“Her pressure spiked dangerously during the C-section. They had to give her emergency meds on the table.”
Christian’s grip tightened on the rail.
He remembered, vaguely, like a dream through fog, the doctor’s low voice when he was briefing him. He’d been too consumed by the tiny, squirming bundle in his arms to register the warning.
Margaret’s gaze never wavered.
“It happened again at the diner attack,” she continued.
“The assault. The stress. The blood loss. Her pressure shot up so high they thought she might stroke out. She’s been fighting it ever since.
.. medication, check-ups, trying to keep it under control while she rebuilt her life. Last night… was too much.”
Christian’s knees felt weak. He leaned more heavily on the rail.
Margaret’s voice softened, but the words were still sharp.
“You’ve given her only scars, Christian.”
He flinched visibly.
“I know,” he whispered.
“She’s strong,” she said. “Stronger than anyone should have to be. But strength like that has a cost. Her body remembers every blow, every betrayal, every night she cried alone wondering if her child even knew her name. You can’t erase that with apologies.
You can’t fix it with flowers or lunch boxes. But you can stop adding to it.”
Christian’s eyes filled.
He looked at Melody.
At the woman who had once looked at him with love.
At the woman he had helped break.
At the mother of his child, fighting for her life because of the pain he’d allowed.
“I don’t know how to make it right,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know if I can.”
Margaret stood slowly.
“You start by being honest,” she said. “With her. With yourself. And you start by letting her heal... without you hovering, without you pushing. Give her space. Give her time. And when she’s ready, you show up.
Not as the man who broke her. As the man who’s finally learned how to stand beside her without casting a shadow. ”
Christian nodded.
Margaret stepped closer.
“She loves Symphony more than anything,” she said quietly. “That love is what keeps her going. Don’t take that from her again. Don’t make her choose between her health and her daughter.”
“I won’t,” he whispered.
Margaret studied him for a long moment.
Then she nodded once.
“Go home,” she said. “Rest. Get better. Don’t push today. She can’t carry your guilt on top of her own.”
Christian looked at Melody one last time... sleeping, fragile, beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, to Margaret, to the empty room.
Then he turned.
And walked out.
Into the hallway.
Into the elevator.
Into the gray morning.
Fever still burning.
Heart still breaking.
But for the first time in years, he knew exactly what he had to do.
×××××××