Longing
Melody knelt on the thick cream rug in Symphony’s new bedroom at the Marshall estate, surrounded by the toys she’d carefully selected over the past week.
The room was a child’s dream... pastel walls, a canopy bed draped in soft white tulle, shelves lined with plush animals, wooden blocks, a tiny tea set, and the rainbow xylophone Symphony had picked out herself during their toy-shopping day.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching on the glitter glue and sparkly stickers scattered across the floor from an earlier craft session.
It was Sunday, the last day.
Melody had woken early, determined to make it perfect.
She’d baked mini chocolate chip pancakes shaped like hearts, arranged them on a special plate with whipped cream and strawberries, and let Symphony “help” by sprinkling the powdered sugar (mostly on herself).
They’d built a blanket fort in the sunroom, read three picture books, danced to silly songs on the Bluetooth speaker, and now they were in the middle of a toy avalanche.
“Look, baby,” Melody said, voice bright with forced cheer, holding up the lavender bunny Symphony had named Flopsy. “Flopsy wants to have a tea party with Star and Lambie. Should we set the table?”
Symphony sat cross-legged in the center of the rug, her dark curls falling into her eyes. She held Lambie tightly against her chest, but her gaze kept drifting toward the window, toward the hallway, toward… nothing in particular.
Melody tried again.
“Or we could play with the blocks? Make a big castle like we talked about?”
Symphony poked at the wooden blocks half-heartedly, stacking two, then knocking them over with a small sigh.
Melody’s smile faltered.
She reached for the musical mobile, the one with clouds and stars that played a gentle lullaby when wound.
“Want to hear the song again? You liked it yesterday.”
Symphony shook her head slowly.
“No thank you.”
Melody set the mobile down.
The silence stretched.
She tried one more time, voice softer now.
“What do you want to do, sweetheart? Anything. Mommy’s here for whatever you want.”
Symphony looked up then, big hazel eyes glassy, lower lip trembling just a little.
“I want to go home,” she whispered.
Melody’s heart cracked open.
“Home?” she repeated, voice barely audible.
Symphony nodded, hugging Lambie tighter.
“I miss Daddy. And my room. And the big bed at home.”
Melody’s throat closed.
She swallowed hard, forcing a smile that felt like glass.
“But you like it here too, right? With Mommy? We’ve had fun. The cake, the cats, the park…”
Symphony’s eyes filled.
“I like it… but I want Daddy.”
The words landed like a quiet punch.
Melody stared at her daughter, her beautiful, perfect daughter, who had spent the last six days trying so hard to be happy here, but whose little heart was clearly aching for the only home she’d ever known.
For the man who had raised her.
For the routine, the stories, the lullabies only he knew by heart.
Melody’s vision blurred.
She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall in front of Symphony.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, baby.”
She reached out and pulled Symphony into her lap, wrapping her arms around the small body, rocking her gently.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured into those dark curls. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted you to know how much I love you. How much I missed you. I thought… I thought if I gave you everything here, you’d want to stay.”
Symphony sniffled against her chest.
“But I want Daddy.”
Melody closed her eyes, tears slipping free now, silent and hot.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“Please take me to him.” the girl looked up.
Melody stared at her. “Daddy will be here soon—”
“No! Take me now!”
“Symphony—”
“Please! Take me now!”
She scrambled out of her embrace and sat on the rug, her knees close to her chest, and she cried.
“Symphony, please.”
“I want Daddy!” Symphony cried out loud.
Melody's vision blurred with tears. She pressed a hand to her chest, got up and left.
×××××××
Some Time Later
Melody stood frozen just outside the sunroom doors, one hand pressed to the frame, the other clenched at her side.
Through the glass, she could see Symphony perched on the wicker sofa, small legs dangling, Thomas’s phone pressed to her ear with both hands.
The little girl’s face was blotchy from earlier tears, eyes red, curls messy from where she’d tugged at them in frustration.
Her voice, high, wobbly, so achingly young, drifted through the cracked door.
“Daddy… please come get me. I want to go home. Please, Daddy…”
A pause. Symphony sniffled loudly.
“I miss my bed… and the stars on my ceiling… and you reading the bunny story… Mommy’s house is big but I want my Daddy…”
Another pause. Christian’s voice was muffled through the speaker, but Melody could hear the gentleness in it, the low soothing tone he used only with their daughter.
Symphony’s lip trembled harder.
“But I want you now… please come… okay… I love you too…”
The call ended with a small beep.
Symphony stared at the phone for a second, then dropped it onto the cushion and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with fresh, quiet sobs.
Melody’s heart shattered.
Three years of longing, of dreaming, of rebuilding herself brick by bloody brick, all so she could finally hold her daughter again. And now, after one week, Symphony wanted to leave. Wanted her father. Wanted the home she’d known her whole life.
Melody’s vision blurred with hot tears.
She pushed the doors open so hard they banged against the stops.
Symphony looked up, startled.
“Mommy?”
Melody didn’t answer. She crossed the room in quick, purposeful strides, bent down, and lifted Symphony into her arms without a word. The little girl’s legs dangled, confused, but she wrapped her arms around Melody’s neck on instinct.
Melody turned and walked out... fast, silent, carrying her daughter up the grand staircase, past startled staff who quickly averted their eyes.
Symphony’s voice was small against her shoulder.
“Mommy? Where are we going?”
Melody didn’t reply.
She kept walking.
Up to the second floor, down the long hallway lined with soft cream rugs and framed art, straight to Symphony’s bedroom, the one she’d spent weeks designing, the one with the canopy bed, the fairy lights, the shelves of toys and books she’d chosen herself.
She pushed the door open with her hip, stepped inside, and set Symphony down on the rug.
The little girl looked up, eyes wide and uncertain.
Melody crouched in front of her, hands on Symphony’s shoulders, firm and trembling.
“You’re not leaving me,” she said, voice low and shaking. “I spent three years longing to be near you. To touch you. To love you. Three years wondering if you even remembered my face. And now you want to go back to him? After one week?”
Symphony’s lower lip quivered.
“Mommy…?”
Melody’s eyes filled, tears spilling over.
“I gave you everything. This room. The toys. The cake. The park. The stories. I tried so hard to make you happy here. And you still want to leave?”
Symphony’s face crumpled.
“I… I miss Daddy…”
Melody stood abruptly.
She walked to the door, opened it, stepped out, and closed it behind her, firmly, but not a slam.
The lock clicked.
Inside, Symphony’s confused voice rose.
“Mommy? Mommy!”
Melody leaned back against the closed door, sliding down until she sat on the hallway floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself.
Tears streamed silently down her face.
She pressed her forehead to her knees.
She had waited three years for this... for her daughter to be here.
And now her daughter wanted to leave.
Wanted her father.
Wanted the life Melody had been denied.
The pain was so deep it felt like drowning.
She didn’t move.
She didn’t open the door.
She just sat there while Symphony’s small, frightened voice called for her from the other side.
And in that moment, Melody Marshall, the woman who had rebuilt herself from nothing, who had become CEO, who had faced down enemies and won, felt smaller than she had in years.
Because the one thing she had fought for most in the world didn’t want to stay.
And she didn’t know how to fix it.
She didn’t know how to make her daughter choose her.
She didn’t know how to stop the bleeding inside her chest.
She just sat there. And cried.
×××××××
Christian stood in the foyer of the Holt mansion, car keys in one hand, the other resting on the door handle. Outside, the sky had turned slate-gray in the last ten minutes, and the first fat drops were already tapping against the tall windows like impatient fingers.
Then the rain began in earnest.
It started as a soft patter, then built into a steady, drumming rhythm... warm, familiar, washing over the driveway, the oaks, the stone steps. Christian paused. His shoulders eased. A slow, real smile curved his lips.
He loved the rain.
Always had.
Even as a boy, he would stand at the window during thunderstorms, watching the world blur and glisten, feeling something inside him settle.
The sound, the scent of wet earth rising, the way the city lights smeared into golden halos on wet glass, it all felt like a reset.
Like the world was being cleaned, forgiven, given a chance to start over.
Today, the rain felt like a gift.
He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling.
Symphony was coming home.
She would be back in her own bed, under the galaxy lights, surrounded by the routine he’d built around her.
The thought made his heart swell... warm, aching, full.
He opened the door.
Rain rushed in on a cool gust, misting his face, dampening the front of his navy sweater. He didn’t flinch. He just stepped out onto the porch, letting the drops fall on his hair, his shoulders, his upturned face.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
The rain smelled like possibility.
Like second chances.
Like the woman he’d never stopped loving, even when he’d tried so hard to hate her.
He smiled again... small, private, almost boyish.
Then he opened his eyes, took a deep breath of wet air, and walked down the steps toward the waiting car.
Symphony was coming home.
He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and drove into the downpour.
Smiling.
Heart full.
Ready.
×××××××