She went very still. Waiting.
"I'm tired of living in that penthouse like it's a memorial. Tired of teaching Daisy that love means endless mourning. Tired of the anger that has been my only fuel for two years." I met her eyes. "I've been trying to punish you, in one way or another, since the day I found out who you were. And I'm just... exhausted by it. By hating you. By trying to hate you when you keep making it impossible."
I opened my heart and let out my confession. I watched it land, saw her absorb it. Her face crumpled slightly, tears flowing freely now.
A single tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away. "I don't know what to say."
"Say yes."
She let out a shaky laugh that was half a sob. Herhands came up to cover her face, shoulders shaking. When she lowered them, her smile was watery but real. Genuine. "Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you. I won't let you down. I won't let her down."
Her words meant the world to me. The air felt charged, too thick to breathe. I was about to say something, I didn’t know what it was, but then the office door burst open.
Daisy zoomed in, a whirlwind of excitement. "Daddy! Aunt Emma's here! She has puppets!"
She skidded to a stop, looking from Anna's tearful face to mine. Her own face lit up with secret, triumphant knowledge. "You told her! You told her! Mommy’s place is staying open!"
I crouched down to her level. "I did. And Anna's going to help run it."
Anna, still emotional, smiled through her tears. "I'm staying to help with the foundation, sweet pea."
Daisy's head tilted, her logic flawless and devastating. "But you help at home too. With me. And with Daddy." She looked between us, her gray eyes, Elena's eyes, so earnest and sure. "Are we going to be a family forever?"
The air was vacuumed from the room. I watched the color drain from Anna's face, then flood back in a violent blush. Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.
"Daisy," Anna managed, her voice strangled. "That's... that's not... your daddy and I, we work together."
Daisy looked genuinely confused. "But you read stories. You eat dinner. You make the house not sad."
The innocent, five-year-old demolition of every carefully constructed boundary between us was complete. Anna looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
"I..." Anna's voice was strangled. She was backing toward the door. "I should go help Margaret and Emma with the puppets. They'll need—I should—excuse me."
She fled. Actually fled, the door swinging shut behind her with more force than necessary.
Daisy watched her go, then turned to me, her expression shifting to concern. "Daddy, did I say a bad word? Is Anna angry with me?"
I pulled her into a hug, my heart hammering against my ribs. "No, bug. You didn't say a wrong thing."
She leaned against my shoulder. "Anna should stay with us. She makes everything happy."
I stood, taking her hand. "Let's go see these puppets."
Out in the main room, the energy was vibrant and chaotic. Emma Reed was indeed there. A warm, kind-faced woman surrounded by star-struck kids and a box of gorgeous animal puppets. She was chatting animatedly with Margaret and a still-flustered Anna about the fundraiser.
"We'll call it 'A Night of Bright Pages,'" Emma was saying enthusiastically. "Anna, your connection withthe kids is perfect. You could host the children's segment..."
Anna was nodding, contributing ideas, but her gaze kept flickering to me, filled with panicked uncertainty. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring nod.
The reading session began. Emma did a spectacular, puppet-filled rendition, but all I could see was Anna, sitting off to the side with Daisy in her lap, slowly relaxing. When it was over, and the children clamored for one more story, it was Anna they chanted for. "Anna! Anna! Read the dragon one!"
She glanced at me, a silent question. I nodded.
She settled into the large chair, and Daisy immediately climbed into her lap, settling against her like she'd done it a thousand times.
Because she had.
This wasn't temporary anymore. This wasn't professional. This was Daisy choosing her safe person. This was family, whether we acknowledged it or not.
