It wasn’t fair. Daisy finally had money and freedom, but she had no means of getting the one thing she wanted. Jack.
He saved her twice. He’d asked her to stay with him. Told her he read her essays and they hit a nerve. So why hadn’t he come for her? On paper, he had every detail he needed to find her.
You burned your file…
No. She had to believe he kept that information backed up on some secret hard drive. Otherwise he would have been way angrier than he’d been when she destroyed the files. And how else would they have paid her if that was the only trace of the tributes in existence.
Maybe he didn’t want someone he kept having to save.
The urge to defend herself erupted inside of her but there was no one to tell. Daisy had never been lazy or weak. She was strong and brave. But sometimes, that wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t possibly hold what happened against her. It wasn’t her fault. Every time she was attacked, she fought. She bit and kicked and scratched and clawed and did everything girls were taught to do while boys were taught things like how to throw a ball or a punch, how to hunt, and how to win.
Jaw locked, Daisy sat inside her fury for a moment, holding space for her anger that seemed to have nowhere left to go. Shoulders tense, her pulse thudding as it built and built, making it all the more difficult to swallow back down.
Being a victim of assault was a prison in itself. She pressed her palms flat against her face and screamed, muffling her rage into a small, manageable ball.
Something to discuss in therapy on Wednesday.
In the kitchen, she seasoned chicken thighs with salt and thyme. Then she chopped carrots and parsnips, adding everything to a pot with a splash of white wine. She diced an onion until her eyes burned and Maggie walked in just as she was dabbing her eyes.
“I bought us a toaster! Look—Oh. You’re crying?”
Daisy waved away her concern. “Onion.”
“Oh.” She set the toaster box on the counter with the ceremonial gravity of a woman presenting a firstborn. “Isn’t it lovely? I went with blue because it seemed cheery.”
Daisy managed a real smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know. I nearly cried in the shop.” Maggie drifted toward the Dutch oven, lifting the lid and inhaling deeply. “Oh, that smells unreal. We should have Maryanne over more often.”
Daisy laughed. “This is the only recipe with more than two ingredients I know how to cook. And I can make it for you whenever you want.”
“And as a thank you, I’ll buy you a cookbook so you can learn more recipes.” Maggie replaced the lid and pulled something from her back pocket. “Look what I found in the letterbox downstairs.” She slapped the envelope on the counter and pointed to the name. “Daisy Burdan. You’re official.”
Daisy frowned at the cream-colored envelope as she read the return address printed in the corner of the heavy stock.
The Seeds of Hope Trust
She didn’t recognize the name. “It’s probably junk. No one knows I moved.”
Maggie shrugged. “Maybe it’s the council welcoming us to the neighborhood.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be posh?”
Daisy ran her thumb along the sealed flap, then set it on the counter beside the toaster. She’d open it later.
The buzzer rang at half six, and Daisy wiped her hands on a tea towel before pressing the intercom. “Hello?”
“Daisy, are you sure this is the right building?” Maryanne’s voice crackled through the speaker, already suspicious. “There’s a doorman out here, and he’s looking at me like I don’t belong.”
“You belong.” She laughed. “Come up. Top floor.”
Maryanne muttered something in Spanish before the line clicked off. A moment later, the lift buzzed, and Daisy opened the door.
Maryanne stepped inside with the cautious posture of a woman entering a courtroom. Her eyes traveled upward, tracing the vaulted ceilings and the exposed beams as though she expected authorities to swoop in and charge her with trespassing.
She clutched her handbag against her ribs and didn’t move past the foyer. “What’s going on, Daisy?”
“Maryanne, relax. Come in.”
