That’s the scariest part.
If I had seen hate, or even anger, in his eyes, I could have held onto that. We could’ve come back from that. But there was… nothing.
He looked at me like he didn’t even know me.
Like he didn’t know every inch of my body.
Intimately.
And that is the most devastating part of this entire thing. Because once upon a time, he was my sun, and I was his angel.
Now we’re just Killian and Daisy.
Two strangers with a lot of history.
“Are you sure this is okay?” The tall, thin boy standing in the doorway nervously asks Savannah.
“Absolutely. They seem to be getting on just fine.” Savannah points at the two girls playing on the floor next to me. “Reign could do with having a friend to have over.”
The boy smiles at her, his cheeks tinged with warmth. Aw, looks like he’s got his first crush.
He clears his throat, clutching the back of his neck. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this helps me.”
Savannah places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he blinks at her with hearts in his eyes.
Poor kid.
“You don’t need to thank me, Jaxon. Now go on.” She ushers him to the door. “Killian is waiting outside for you. I’ll take care of Juliet.”
He thanks her once again and I observe the boy with new eyes after learning his name.
Jaxon.
The employee Killian told me about.
I look back at the little girl playing with Reign and my heart clenches as realisation dawns on me.
His little sister. The one he looks after because his mom is too drunk or high to do it herself.
And she’s so incredibly small.
She can’t be any older than two.
I can’t stop the tears that spring to my eyes as I examine her small form from head to toe.
Her chestnut brown hair is wild and tangled. The long sleeve t-shirt she’s wearing falls somewhere between her wrists and her elbows, clearly too small for her. Her leggings are much the same, not quite reaching her ankles like they should. And the tiny, pink sneakers she has on have a hole forming just above the toe.
She doesn’t even have socks on.
My God.
Savannah comes walking back into the living room and my tear-filled eyes find hers. She nudges her chin over her shoulder, and I stand from the floor, following her back into the kitchen.
She braces her hands on the counter, her head dipping low between her shoulders, quiet sniffles coming from her.
“How old is she?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“She’s three,” she replies quietly.
