Finally, she exhales, the fight seeming to drain from her shoulders. “Fine,” she mutters, stepping back. She rummages through her bag, pulling out a crumpled scrap of paper and a pen. With quick strokes, she scrawls a phone number and presses it into my hand. “I’ll wait to speak to Aidan.”
I nod. “That’s the best thing to do.” A beat of silence stretches between us before I add, “Have a good evening.”
She doesn’t respond. Just turns and walks away, her silhouette long and graceful against the fading light. I stand there feeling small in a way I haven’t in a long time.
I close the door softly, locking it with trembling hands. Leaning against the cool wood, I shove the scrap of paper into my pocket and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Isla’s laughter spills from the living room as she watches whatever cartoon that has her attention, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just outside.
I don’t know what reason Isla’s mother has for returning, but it really isn’t my place to insert myself into that. I know one thing, though—I’ll do everything in my power to protect that little girl.
Taking another deep breath, I shake off the unease and head back to the kitchen. My mind races, but I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the here and now. Isla needs her dinner, and I’m determined to keep things as normal as possible until Aidan gets home.
I keep my hands busy in the kitchen, but no amount of bustling can soothe my nerves. I can’t help but wonder what this means for all of us.
Would Aidan want her back? The thought twists in my stomach like a knife, even though I know better. I’ve seen the steel in his eyes when he’s mentioned her abandonment, heard the protective edge in his voice when he talks about keeping Isla safe. No, he wouldn’t just welcome her with open arms.
But what if she’s here to stay? What if she wants to be part of Isla’s life again?
I have no claim here. I’m not Isla’s mother. I’m just…Lucy. The woman who makes swirly butter toast and stays over sometimes. The woman who’s fallen in love with a man and his daughter, building something that suddenly feels terribly fragile.
Life doesn’t pause for doubts. Responsibilities and routines pull me forward, reminding me there’s still a little girl depending onmeright now.
“Isla, sweetheart,” I call out, my voice only slightly shaky. “Dinner’s almost ready. Can you come set the table?”
I hear the patter of her feet as she rushes into the kitchen. “Can I use the special plates?” she asks, her eyes wide and hopeful, filled with that innocent joy that always manages to melt my heart.
I nod, managing to return her enthusiasm with a smile of my own. “Of course. Just be careful with them.”
As she cautiously carries the delicate dishes to the table, I take a moment to glance at the clock. Aidan really should be home any minute now, and the thought of how to bring up the unexpected visitor weighs heavily on my mind.
Just as I’m pulling the casserole dish from the oven, the familiar rumble of Aidan’s truck fills the air, followed by gravel crunching under his tires as he pulls into the driveway. My heart quickens at the sound, a mix of relief and anxiety flooding through me.
“Daddy’s home!” Isla announces, bouncingon her toes.
I swallow hard, determined not to let my nerves show. “He sure is. Why don’t you finish setting the table and wash your hands while I go say hello?”
As Isla skips away, I step out onto the porch just as Aidan climbs out of his truck. He looks up and smiles when he sees me, but his expression quickly shifts as he approaches.
His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
I take a steady breath, trying to find the right words, glancing back at the house to ensure Isla is out of earshot. “Someone came by the house just a little while ago, looking for you.”
His brows knit closer together, confusion and concern etched into his handsome features. “Who was it?”
I hesitate for a moment. “It was Isla’s mother.”
The shock that registers on his face is immediate, quickly followed by a flash of anger. He runs a hand over his cheek, his jaw clenching.
“What did she want?” he asks, his voice tense.
“She was looking for you and Isla,” I reply gently, trying to keep my tone calm despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t let her in or tell her anything,” I add quickly, sensing the need to reassure him. “I just said you weren’t home and that she’d need to talk to you, not me.”
His head tips back slightly as he exhales through his nose, and then he erupts. “Fuck!” The word tears out of him, loud and raw, and I flinch at the suddenness of it.
I’ve never seen him so visibly furious before. One hand rakes through his hair while the other flexes and clenches at his side. His movements are almost frantic, as though he doesn’t know where to direct the anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Aidan…” I begin, my voice soft, but he cuts me off.
“She doesn’t get to do this.” His voice is low, but noless furious. “She doesn’t get to show up out of nowhere and—” He breaks off, swiping a hand over his face again.
