Emily’s eyes flash, her mask slipping for just a moment. “She’s not Isla’s mother, Aidan. I am.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Isla’s gaze darts between the adults as she tries to make sense of what’s happening.
“Emily,” I warn. “Enough.”
It doesn’t matter what I say, because the damage is already done. Isla’s lower lip trembles, and I watch her small, happy world tilt on its axis. She looks at Lucy with wounded eyes.
“But Lucy takes care of me,” Isla whispers. “She reads to me and makes my lunch and?—”
“And she always will,” I say firmly.
Fucking hell, this couldn’t be worse. I shouldn’t be speaking for Lucy like that. What in the hell does Emily think she’s doing?
Emily clears her throat. “Aidan, we need to be honest with her about?—”
“About what?” I cut her off again.
Before she can respond, Lucy turns to Isla. “Sweetheart, Emily is your mother. That’s true. That doesn’t change howIfeel about you, or how much I love being part of your life and doing all those fun things with you.”
“So, you’re both my mums?” Isla asks, her child’s logic trying to make sense of this adult complexity.
“It’s complicated, love,” I say gently before turning my gaze back to Emily. “What matters is that you’re loved by all of us.”
Emily’s expression softens slightly at that, but there’s still something scheming behind her eyes that I don’t trust. Changed woman, my ass.
“Can I have two mums then?” Isla asks, looking between Lucy and Emily with the kind of innocent hope that only breaks your heart.
The silence stretches. Emily doesn’t answer. I don’t either, because this isn’t a discussion that should be happening right now.
Lucy doesn’t hesitate. “I’m someone who loves you very, very much. I always will,” she says, brushing Isla’s hair back. “That’s the part that counts most.”
That’s the moment I fall in love with her all over again. Right here, between roasted chicken and tension so thick I could carve it with a steak knife.
She’s perfect. Honest without being complicated, loving without overstepping. This is why I fell for her. This is why Isla adores her.
Emily’s lips press into a thin line. “I think it’s important that Isla understands the difference between?—”
“Emily,” I interrupt, my patience finally snapping. “This is a conversation that doesnotbelong at this table.”
She blinks, taken aback.
I lean forward slightly, just enough to make my point. “You wanted to be here. So be here. But don’t try to make this something it’s not. Lucy’s not playing house. She’s loving our daughter and doing it well. And let me make this clear in case I didn’t before—these conversations do not happen in front of children.”
There’s a long pause. Emily picks up her wine again and takes a sip but says nothing else.
Isla’s already gone back to picking peas off her plate—thank god.
Lucy meets my eyes. She mouths a silentthank you, and I give her the truth back.
I love you.
forty-four
LUCY
Ilet Aidan put Isla to bed on his own tonight.
He needed the space. A moment to wrap his arms around her and remind them both that love doesn’t have to come laced with barbed wire. Not like that absolute disaster of a dinner.
