Chapter 40
forty
AIDAN
I’m sitting down with Isla this morning, the weight of what’s coming pressing down on me. She’s too little to carry any of this, too innocent to even know what’s coming. Yet here I am, about to place it in her lap.
“All right, little storm,” I say, keeping my tone light, like this is nothing to be nervous about. “We need to talk about something.”
She tips her chin up, those big, trusting eyes locking on mine.
“There’s someone who wants to see you today,” I manage, my throat tight as the words leave me. This is the part I’ve been dreading.
Her brows pull together, the question already forming. “Who?”
I draw in a breath that doesn’t seem to reach my lungs. “Her name is Emily,” I say carefully. Maybe if I speak slowly enough, it won’t hit her as hard. “She’s…your mum. Her name is Emily.”
Confusion flashes across her face instantly. I watch it settle in as she attempts to grasp what I’m saying.
This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. It’s not fair that I have to be the one to put that shadow in her eyes. I hate that I’m the one who has to watch innocence give way to doubt.
“But…Lucy takes care of me.”
The words are so small, so certain, they cut straight through me.
Fuck. How do I explain this to her? How do I make sense of something so tangled when all she’s ever known is me and the woman I brought in who’s done nothing but show up all the time and love her?
We’ve never talked about this. Never needed to. Isla never asked, and I never had the heart to open the door. We’ve just…lived, day by day.
I shut my eyes. When I open them again, she’s still watching me, wide eyed and waiting for me to give her an answer that won’t hurt.
“Lucy loves you very much,” I tell her, my voice unshakable even though I feel like I’m splintering inside. “And yes, she takes care of you just like a mum would. But…Lucy wasn’t here when you were born. Emily was.”
Her brows pinch tighter. “Why haven’t I met her before?”
The question knocks the air out of me. How do you condense years of silence and poor choices into something a five-year-old can comprehend?
“Sometimes, sweetheart, grown-ups make complicated decisions,” I manage, each word heavy on my tongue. “Emily… She wasn’t able to be here with us.”
“Why?”
God. I’m caught between the fury at Emily for vanishing and the ache of watching my little girl try to piece together something so far beyond her.
This conversation is all wrong. Isla should be running barefoot through the yard, giggling over bubbles, not sitting here with her tiny hands folded in her lap, waiting for answers to questions no child should ever have to ask.
“She couldn’t be here,” I say, my voice gruff despite my best effort to sound reassuring. “But just because Emily is coming to visit, that doesn’t mean Lucy is going anywhere. You don’t need to worry about that changing, okay?”
She nods slowly, but the doubt in her eyes guts me. I wish I could take it all away. Wrap her in enough warmth and certainty that she never even has to wonder.
I can’t shield her forever. The only thing I can promise is that I’ll fight like hell to protect what she does have.
And yet, in the back of my mind, a horrible thought gnaws at me. Did I just lie when I told her Lucy wasn’t going anywhere? The idea of ripping that security from Isla makes me sick.
The knock comes at exactly two o’clock. Isla looks up from her coloring book, her crayon frozen mid-stroke.
“Is that her?” she whispers, so soft it nearly breaks me.
My throat works around the lump lodged there. I force myself to nod. “Aye. Remember what we talked about, okay? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you’re uncomfortable at all, you tell me.”
She nods back, then slides off the couch. Her hand finds mine, her trust steadfast even when mine is anything but. I squeeze it gently before turning toward the door, every step heavier than the last as I reach for the handle.
Emily’s standing there with a smile that’s entirely too bright and forced, her shoulders wrapped in some cardigan that looks deliberately chosen—soft, homey, maternal. It’s a costume, and my stomach twists at the effort she’s put into playing a role she cast off years ago.
“Hello, Isla,” she says, her voice pitched just a little too high, as if she’s speaking to someone else’s child in a grocery store aisle.
Isla shifts against my leg, pressing close. She peeks out from behind me, silent but watchful, studying Emily with curiosity.
“Come in,” I say curtly. I step aside, keeping myself angled just enough between Emily and Isla.
She breezes past, her eyes looking everywhere but me.
They skim over the mantle crowded with family photos, Isla’s crayon masterpieces taped crookedly on the fridge, the shoes kicked off by the door.
Our life is scattered across every surface.
I swear I see a flicker of regret, longing, or maybe recognition of the life she almost had.
“Your home is lovely,” she says, her tone too polished.
I don’t bother answering. I’m not interested in polite lies.
Emily crouches down, her skirt pooling around her knees. “You’ve gotten so big,” she tells Isla. “You’re beautiful, just like I imagined.”
Isla only presses tighter against my leg, her fingers fisting the fabric of my jeans. She doesn’t say a word. Smart lass.
Isla eventually looks up at me, uncertainty written all over her face.
“You okay, kiddo?” I ask her. She gives me a small nod before she slowly releases her hold and makes her way to the couch. She perches on the very edge of the cushion.
Emily follows, sitting in the armchair close by, but I remain standing.
“I brought you something,” she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package.
Isla glances up at me, hesitation written all over her face before gingerly taking the gift. She peels back the paper, revealing a stuffed dog with floppy ears.
“Thank you,” she mumbles. She doesn’t hug it to her chest or squeal in delight. Instead, she balances it in her lap, testing the weight.
“Do you like dogs?”
Isla shrugs, her shoulders stiff. “They’re okay. I like cats better, though. Lucy has a cat at her flat.”
The mention of Lucy makes Emily’s jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. “That’s nice,” she says, her voice tight. “Maybe you could tell me more about you? What’s your favorite subject?”
Isla’s brows furrow. “Subject?”
“You know,” Emily replies. “Like at school?”
Jesus Christ. Does she really not know Isla hasn’t even started school yet?
Isla blinks up at her, clearly confused. “I don’t go to school yet,” she admits, tugging at the hem of her shirt.
Emily’s smile falters for just a second. “Oh…right,” she says quickly. “Well… What do you like to do, then?”
“Art,” Isla answers. “I’m really good at drawing. Lucy helps me with my letters sometimes.”
Lucy. Every answer circles back to her, and I catch that subtle flash of irritation in Emily’s eyes.
“What about your daddy?” Emily presses, shooting me a quick glance. “Do you two do fun things together?”
Isla’s face lights up for the first time since Emily walked in. “We go fishing and make pancakes on Sundays. And we read stories before bed.” She pauses, then adds, “Lucy reads with us, too. She does funny voices that make Daddy laugh.”
Emily’s hands clench in her lap. “That sounds…wonderful. I was thinking maybe you and I could spend some time together. Just the two of us. Would you like that?”
Isla shrinks back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know,” she whispers, eyes darting to mine for guidance.
“She doesn’t have to decide anything right now,” I interject. How dare she bring up alone time without speaking to me first.
Emily blinks, surprised, and I feel the anger rising, slow and hot in my chest. “If you want to spend time with Isla, you talk to me.”
Her composure finally cracks. “Aidan, I’m trying here. Can’t you see that?”
“I can see you’re trying,” I reply evenly. “But she doesn’t know you.”
The silence that follows is thick with tension. Emily’s face flushes. “She’s my daughter. I—”
“Isla,” I cut her off. “Why don’t you go get your drawing pad, love? Show Emily that picture you drew of the loch.”
Isla nods eagerly, clearly relieved to have something to do, and scurries off to her room.
The moment she’s out of earshot, Emily’s mask drops completely as she stands. “This is ridiculous, Aidan. You’re poisoning her against me.”
“I would never poison her against anything or anyone. You’ve managed to do that all on your own,” I shoot back, crossing my arms.
“She keeps talking about Lucy,” she hisses, her voice dripping with resentment. “How cozy. You’ve replaced me with some café girl who’s playing house.”
My jaw clenches so hard I can hear my teeth grind. “I don’t see how that’s possible when there was no one here to be replaced.”
Heat simmers behind her eyes. “I’m trying to fix things.”
“Fix things?” I take a step closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you really think you’d be able to waltz in here and everything was going to be easy? That Isla was going to run into your arms like she knows you?”
“I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but—”
“Did you?” I cut her off. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you expected to show up with a stuffed animal and have her call you mummy by teatime.”
Emily’s face goes pale, then red. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You want to talk about fair? Fair would have been you being here when she had nightmares. Fair would have been you teaching her to tie her shoes or kissing her scraped knees. Fair would have been a lot of things other than you leaving her in the first place.”
Her mouth opens and closes like she’s searching for words that don’t come.
“Daddy, I found it!” Isla’s voice rings out as she comes running back into the room, clutching her drawing pad against her chest.
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut, and Isla’s bright smile fades as she looks between us.
Emily immediately forces her smile back into place, but it’s brittle now. “I’d love to see your drawing.”
Isla doesn’t move toward her. She steps closer to me, pressing against my side and using me like a shield.
“Why don’t you show Emily the one with the mountains?” I tell her, hand brushing her shoulder.
She flips through the pad and finally holds up a picture. “This is the loch where we go fishing. And that’s Lucy picking flowers by the water.”
Three stick figures stand beside a blue oval. Emily’s eyes linger. “That’s very nice,” she says, the words hollow. “Maybe next time you could draw one with me in it?”
Fucking hell. She’s pushing way too damn hard.
Isla tilts her head, frowning. “But you weren’t there.”
I can’t help it—a laugh sneaks out before I can stop it. Not at Emily’s expense, but at Isla’s sheer honesty. She just says exactly what she’s thinking. My shoulders relax, and I find myself brushing a loose curl from her forehead, just because I can. God, I love that she’s mine.
“Well, maybe we could make new memories,” Emily finally says.
I watch Isla’s fingers follow the edge of her drawing pad, and I can’t stop the swell in my chest. She’s mine. Mine to protect, and I’m so damn proud of her right now.
I’m proud that she’s being cautious but open with a woman who has waltzed back in here like she’d just popped out for milk and forgot the way home.
My mind drifts to Lucy and how Isla talks about her so freely. To her, Lucy is just someone who loves her, who picks flowers and reads stories and doesn’t need to be asked twice.
I press my hand against Isla’s shoulder, grounding both of us. All I can think is—this is the life Emily left. The messy, beautiful, sticky-fingered life she walked away from. Now she wants back in, like this is some storybook redemption with a big emotional payoff waiting at the end.
I’ll give her a chance, but I’m also not here to make her feel better about the choices she made.
I’m the one who tucked Isla in at night, who wiped away tears and held her through every storm. I’ve bled for this little girl in every way that counts.
Love isn’t a fucking raffle you win just by turning up out of the blue. It’s built. Earned. Day by day. Fish by fish. Flower by flower.
And right now, standing here without Lucy, I’d give anything for her to be at my side. We’re not whole without her.