Then she was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
Alone. The penthouse settled back into its profound silence, but it felt different now. Charged. Waiting.
I pulled out my phone. Stared at James's name in my contacts. He deserved to know. He'd been there through everything. During Elena's death, Daisy's silence, and my descent into obsessive surveillance.
Jack
Daisy spoke today.
The three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. I could picture him in his cluttered office, trying to find the right words.
Then my phone rang.
James's name lit up the screen. I stared at it, let it ring once, twice, three times. How could I explain what I'd just done? That I'd hired the woman I'd been stalking? That my plan for vengeance had transformed into... this?
I sent it to voicemail.
Jack
Not now. Later.
James
Jack, what the hell happened?
Jack
I'll explain tomorrow. She's okay. Daisy's okay.
James
And Anna Stewart?
I looked at the text for a long moment.
Jack
She now works for me… directly.
I walked down the hall to Daisy's room. The door was ajar. Mrs. Rosa was sitting in the rocking chair, knitting. Daisy was in bed, her stuffed dog in her arms. She was awake, staring at the ceiling.
Mrs. Rosa looked at me, her expression unreadable,and quietly stood, slipping out of the room with a gentle touch to my shoulder.
I stood in the doorway, unsure of my welcome. Daisy turned her head. Her eyes, in the dim nightlight, found mine. She didn't smile. But she lifted the edge of her blanket in a small, silent invitation.
The breath I'd been holding left me in a rush. I crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. For a moment, we just sat there in the quiet. Then, she shifted, leaning her small body against my side, her head resting on my arm.
It was the first voluntary, affectionate touch she'd initiated with me in two years. My throat closed. I carefully put my arm around her, holding her slight weight. She didn't pull away. She sighed, a soft, sleepy sound, and settled in.
As I sat there in the dark, holding my daughter, the crushing irony of the situation wrapped around me. Anna Stewart, the woman whose silence had haunted me, was the reason my daughter was now leaning against me. To keep this fragile connection, I had to invite the source of my deepest rage into my home every single day.
I had traded revenge for Daisy's healing.
Daisy's breathing slowed, evening out into the rhythm of sleep. But she didn't let go of me. Even unconscious, she held on.
And downstairs, in my office, the monitors would still be recording. Still watching. Because even though Anna Stewart now had a key to my home,access to my daughter, a place in our broken routine...
I still didn't know if I was protecting Daisy from the woman who'd helped destroy our lives.
