Some Wounds Dont Heal
Christian stepped into the nursery quietly, the door creaking softly behind him. The room was bathed in morning light, the fairy lights still twinkling faintly even in daylight. Toys and wrapping paper were scattered across the floor, pastel boxes half-opened, ribbons curling like colorful snakes.
Symphony spotted him instantly.
“Daddy!”
She scrambled up from the rug where she’d been sitting with Melody and ran straight into his legs, arms wrapping around his thighs in a fierce hug.
Christian dropped to one knee immediately, scooping her up into his arms.
“Hey, my princess,” he murmured, voice thick with love. He buried his face in her curls for a second, breathing her in... strawberry shampoo, warmth, home. “I missed you.”
Symphony squeezed his neck.
“I missed you too! Mommy brought me gifts! Look!”
She wriggled in his hold, pointing proudly at the pile of unwrapped toys.
Christian’s gaze lifted slowly.
Melody stood a few paces away, arms crossed loosely, watching them. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes betrayed everything... softness when she looked at Symphony, ice when they met his.
Their eyes locked.
“Melody,” Christian said softly, almost reverently.
She looked down at the gifts instead, fingers brushing a ribbon absently.
“Daddy! Come look!” Symphony wriggled down and tugged him toward the pile.
Christian crouched beside her, still holding one of her small hands.
“They’re beautiful, Symphony,” he said, voice gentle. He picked up a plush cloud with a little star attached. “You like them?”
“I love them!” she squealed, hugging the cloud to her chest.
He kissed the top of her head, lingering there.
“I’m glad, baby.”
Melody stayed silent, busying herself with gathering stray ribbons and tissue paper, folding them neatly, avoiding his gaze entirely.
Symphony yawned suddenly, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m hungry,” she announced.
Right on cue, Sally appeared in the doorway, smiling warmly.
“Breakfast is ready downstairs, sweetheart. Pancakes with strawberries. Your favorite.”
Symphony gasped in delight. “Yay!” She turned to Melody. “I’ll come back soon, Mommy! Promise!”
Melody’s face softened instantly. “I’ll be right here, princess.”
Symphony hugged her legs quickly, then took Sally’s hand and skipped out, chattering about pancakes the whole way down the hall.
The nursery fell silent.
Melody continued gathering gifts, stacking boxes, smoothing paper, anything to keep her hands busy, to keep her eyes anywhere but on him.
Christian stood slowly.
“I’m so glad to see you here,” he said quietly.
Melody didn’t look up. “Are you?”
“Yes.” His voice was soft, almost humble. “Symphony is so happy.”
“That’s all I want.”
Christian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Melody… can we please talk?”
She finally straightened, meeting his eyes... cold and guarded.
“We did. In my office.”
He stepped closer.
“Can we talk again?”
“About what, Christian?” Her tone was flat, cutting. “You’re going to say the same things again. ‘I know the truth. Ashton was wrong. You were right. I’m sorry.’ I don’t want to hear it. I’m over it. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
Christian looked down at the floor, jaw working.
“Melody, you… you loved me, right? You confessed too.”
“That was years ago.” Her voice sharpened. “I don’t love you anymore.”
“You’re lying.”
Melody’s eyes flashed.
She stepped forward, closing the distance until they were inches apart.
“You divorced me. You let your mother and Ashley carve me up. You left me alone in the OR when I needed you the most. You didn’t even let me feed my own child. Do you think I still love you after all that?”
Christian’s eyes filled.
“Will you give me a chance?”
Melody laughed... cold and disbelieving.
“A chance? Seriously?” She lifted the hem of her turtleneck just enough to reveal the jagged, reddened scar across her lower abdomen.
.. not a neat surgical line, but rough, uneven, still faintly angry after all these years.
“You see this? I was your wife and you didn’t even look after me after they cut me open to take out your daughter.
Ashley took away the swabs. I didn’t have any medicine to treat the wounds.
I used water to clean it. Sally slipped me some pain meds.
And you? You didn’t even come see me once. ”
Christian’s face crumpled. He reached out instinctively.
“Melody, I’m sorry—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix it, Christian.” She stepped back, lowering her shirt. “It doesn’t undo the pain. It doesn’t give me back the years I lost with my daughter. It doesn’t erase the nights I cried myself to sleep wondering if she even remembered me.”
Christian’s tears spilled over.
“Then tell me what to do,” he begged. “I really regret it, Melody. I hate myself for it. I’ll do anything.”
“You can’t.” Her voice was flat, final. “You can never make up for it.”
“Melody—”
“Christian, stop.” She turned toward the door. “I was here to see my daughter. Not to hear your bullshit.”
She walked out. Head high, steps steady.
The door closed softly behind her.
Christian stood alone in the nursery, surrounded by unwrapped gifts and the faint scent of strawberries and childhood.
He sank to his knees on the rug.
And cried.
Quietly.
Silently.
For the woman he had lost.
For the daughter he might lose.
For the man he had been and the one he could never become in time to fix what he had shattered.
×××××××
Christian came downstairs slowly, his footsteps quiet on the wide staircase. The house smelled of fresh coffee, warm pancakes, and the faint sweetness of strawberries. He paused at the archway leading into the sunlit dining room, heart thudding harder than it had any right to.
Melody sat at the table with Symphony, the two of them side by side like they’d never been apart.
Sally hovered nearby, pouring orange juice into a tiny cup with a lid.
Symphony was perched on her booster seat in her pink flamingo pajamas, knees tucked up, a strawberry-stained plate in front of her.
She was carefully stacking pancake pieces into a wobbly tower with her fork, giggling every time it leaned too far.
Melody leaned close, voice soft and patient.
“Do you like strawberries, sweetheart?”
Symphony nodded vigorously, mouth full.
“Yes! They’re my favorite. But not the green part. That’s yucky.”
Melody laughed... quiet, warm, the sound so familiar it made Christian’s chest ache.
“What about bananas?” Melody asked, brushing a curl from Symphony’s cheek.
Symphony wrinkled her nose. “Only if they’re in smoothies. Otherwise they’re too squishy.”
Melody smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You’re very picky. Just like your—” She caught herself, smile faltering for half a second before she recovered. “Just like a smart little girl.”
She reached out and caressed Symphony’s cheek with the back of her fingers, gentle, reverent, as though she still couldn’t quite believe she was allowed to touch her.
Symphony beamed up at her, then spotted Christian in the doorway.
“Daddy!”
She waved both sticky hands, nearly knocking over her juice.
Christian stepped forward, forcing a small smile despite the storm in his chest.
Melody didn’t look up right away. She kept her eyes on Symphony, fingers lingering on her daughter’s cheek for one more heartbeat before she withdrew her hand.
Symphony twisted in her seat, reaching toward him.
“Daddy! Mommy says she’ll take me to the park. Can I go?”
Christian’s gaze flicked to Melody only for a second. She still wasn’t looking at him. Her expression was calm, composed, but he saw the faint tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders had stiffened just slightly.
He crouched beside Symphony’s chair, brushing a strawberry seed from her chin.
“Yes, love,” he said softly. “You can go.”
“Yayy!” Symphony clapped, bouncing in her seat.
Melody finally glanced at him, then looked back at Symphony.
“We’ll go to the park,” she said, voice gentle. “Then we’ll buy toys for you. Lots of them. And then we’ll have lunch, okay?”
“Alright!” Symphony bounced again, clapping her sticky hands.
Melody’s smile returned, small, warm, only for her daughter. She reached out and tucked a curl behind Symphony’s ear.
Christian stayed crouched, watching them, watching the way Symphony leaned into Melody’s touch, the way Melody’s eyes softened every time Symphony giggled. It was like watching a piece of himself he’d never known was missing finally click into place.
And it hurt.
Because he had kept them apart.
Because he had believed the wrong things.
Because he had let the wrong people decide what family meant.
Symphony looked at him suddenly, eyes bright.
“Daddy, are you coming too?”
Christian swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I… I have to go to work soon, princess. But I’ll be home early. I promise.”
Symphony pouted for half a second, then nodded. “Okay. But you have to see the toys Mommy buys me!”
He smiled... small, aching, real.
“I will. I can’t wait.”
Sally stepped forward with a damp cloth, wiping Symphony’s hands gently.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you dressed for the park.”
Symphony hopped down, hugged Christian tightly, then ran to Sally, chattering about swings and slides.
Melody stood slowly, smoothing her trousers, gaze fixed on the empty doorway where her daughter had disappeared.
The room fell quiet.
Christian straightened, hands in his pockets, watching her.
Melody didn’t look at him.
She just gathered the empty plates from the table and stacked them together, movements precise and controlled.
Christian opened his mouth, then closed it again.
There was nothing he could say right now that wouldn’t make it worse.
So he stayed silent.
And watched the woman who had once been his wife, the woman he had broken, pick up the pieces of the morning like it was nothing.
Like she hadn’t waited three years for this exact moment.
Like her heart wasn’t breaking all over again just from being near him.
He turned away first.
And walked out.
Because some apologies couldn’t be spoken in front of their daughter.
And some wounds couldn’t be healed with words.
But today, at least, Symphony had seen her mother.
And Melody had held her daughter.
And for now, that had to be enough.
×××××××