Chapter 21
XXI
DAISY
Memories tend to have a structure. Even when certain parts are missing, there is usually a vague sense of how events unfolded.
One knows how to get from point A to point B, even if the finer details remain blurred.
Yet what Daisy recalled from the days that followed felt less like a coherent story and more like a collection of fragments—images, sounds, and emotions she could not piece together.
What she did know was that he’d saved her life. Those four words were uttered too often, but in their case, they were true. Placental abruption, they called it; to her, it had marked the end of one of the worst and best days of her life.
By the time she regained consciousness, he’d already gone.
The nurses told her he’d returned home to change and shower, given that she’d “made a right mess of his clothes.” When he returned, she was breastfeeding, a lactation nurse hovering at her shoulder.
The woman assumed he was the father, and Daisy had been too exhausted to correct her.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” the nurse said to him. “She looks just like you.”
He smiled then, his gaze meeting Daisy’s. “I don’t know about that,” he replied. “I think she is more like her mother.”
The nurse had disagreed, insisting the baby had his nose and eyes. It was impossible, of course; they both knew that. When she’d finally left, neither could hold back their laughter.
“How are you feeling?” he asked once they had composed themselves. He was standing by, adjusting the sunflowers he must have brought while she was asleep.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, trying to get comfortable. In truth, it felt as though her emotions had shut down. He was there, the baby was there, and things were happening all around her, yet she felt more like a spectator than a participant. “Everything is still sinking in.”
She watched him fuss with the flowers as if to distract himself from her exposed breast.
“Do not be ridiculous,” she said. “I am sure you have seen plenty of breasts in your time.”
He laughed without looking at her. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Oh, please. I once lived in a house full of men.”
He shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “It is not that,” he murmured, his gaze flickering away. “Daisy, I—”
The words faltered, and he turned from her.
He’d always believed himself unreadable, insisting that, even as a child, he’d learnt the world offered no safety to those who allowed themselves to be seen.
But Daisy saw him. She’d always seen him.
Perhaps that was why they had become so inextricably bound, tied together by something neither of them could fully explain.
She watched as he moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the world below. A minute, perhaps two, had passed in silence. Then he sighed, bringing his hands to his face.
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, turning back to her.
She attempted to sit up, only to realise that, still numb from the epidural, it was impossible.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Would you mind holding her for a moment?”
“Me?” His eyes widened. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather call a nurse?”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “Surely you’ve held a baby before.”
He hesitated, the colour draining from his face. “Never.”
“You’ll be fine,” she reassured him, though she knew he was far from convinced.
She tucked her breast away, and he approached, gingerly taking the baby into his arms. He may not have realised it at the time, but he was a natural.
Daisy watched as he paced the room, speaking softly. “Well, Miss Daisy,” he said, stroking the baby’s face, “I have to say, she is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
Then, all at once, it had come rushing back. Callan. The call from the casualty officer. His accident.
“Callan was in an accident,” she blurted out, closing her eyes as a searing pain spread through her pelvis. She tried to get up, frantically searching for her phone. “His vehicle was struck by an IED.”
He froze mid-step and turned to face her. “When?” he asked. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. I…I found out yesterday.”
“Where is he?”
“Birmingham. I need to…I need to go and see him.”
“You can’t.”
“Watch me!” she fired back, her eyes landing on the I.V. line still snaked into her arm.
“If you go, I’m coming with you.”
“No, Logan, you most certainly are not.”
“You can’t go alone. You’ve just had major abdominal surgery, and not to mention, you have a newborn.” He lifted the baby slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Let me help you.”
She turned away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. Whether it was the hormones or the overwhelming weight of everything that had transpired, one thing was clear to her: a new chapter of her life had started, and it was one he couldn’t be a part of.
“I need you to leave,” she whispered at last, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I can’t see you anymore. Whatever this is, it has to end.”
“What are you doing?”
She gestured between them. “I am ending this. Whatever this is.”
“I understand that,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I just want to know why.”
“Because I’m married,” she replied. “Perhaps because I think about you, Logan, in ways I shouldn’t. But mostly because I have a husband who is going to need all of me for his recovery. I can’t do that if you are around.”
For a while, he said nothing. Then, finally, five words escaped his lips, though they weren’t the ones she’d expected.
“I’m sorry,” he said, placing the baby back in her arms. “Truly, I am.”
And then he left, without so much as a glance back over his shoulder.