Isla nods eagerly, clearly relieved to have something to do, and scurries off to her room.
The moment she’s out of earshot, Emily’s mask drops completely as she stands. “This is ridiculous, Aidan. You’re poisoning her against me.”
“I wouldneverpoison her against anything or anyone. You’ve managed to do that all on your own,” I shoot back, crossing my arms.
“She keeps talking about Lucy,” she hisses, her voice dripping with resentment. “Howcozy. You’ve replaced me with some café girl who’s playing house.”
My jaw clenches so hard I can hear my teeth grind. “I don’t see how that’s possible when there was no one here to be replaced.”
Heat simmers behind her eyes. “I’m trying tofix things.”
“Fix things?” I take a step closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you really think you’d be able to waltz in here and everything was going to be easy? That Isla was going to run into your arms like she knows you?”
“I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but?—”
“Did you?” I cut her off. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you expected to show up with a stuffed animal and have her call you mummy by teatime.”
Emily’s face goes pale, then red. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You want to talk about fair? Fair would have been you being here when she had nightmares. Fair would have been you teaching her to tie her shoes or kissing her scraped knees. Fair would have been a lot of things other than you leaving her in the first place.”
Her mouth opens and closes like she’s searching for words that don’t come.
“Daddy, I found it!” Isla’s voice rings out as she comes running back into the room, clutching her drawing pad against her chest.
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut, and Isla’s bright smile fades as she looks between us.
Emily immediately forces her smile back into place, but it’s brittle now. “I’d love to see your drawing.”
Isla doesn’t move toward her. She steps closer to me, pressing against my side and using me like a shield.
“Why don’t you show Emily the one with the mountains?” I tell her, hand brushing her shoulder.
She flips through the pad and finally holds up a picture. “This is the loch where we go fishing. And that’s Lucy picking flowers by the water.”
Three stick figures stand beside a blue oval. Emily’s eyes linger. “That’s very nice,” she says, the words hollow. “Maybe next time you could draw one with me in it?”
Fucking hell. She’s pushing way too damn hard.
Isla tilts her head, frowning. “But you weren’t there.”
I can’t help it—a laugh sneaks out before I can stop it. Not at Emily’s expense, but at Isla’s sheer honesty. She just says exactly what she’s thinking. My shoulders relax, and I find myself brushing a loose curl from her forehead, just because I can. God, I love that she’s mine.
“Well, maybe we could make new memories,” Emily finally says.
I watch Isla’s fingers follow the edge of her drawing pad, and I can’t stop the swell in my chest. She’smine. Mine to protect, and I’m so damn proud of her right now.
I’m proud that she’s being cautious but open with a woman who has waltzed back in here like she’d just popped out for milk and forgot the way home.
My mind drifts to Lucy and how Isla talks about her so freely. To her, Lucy is just someone who loves her, who picks flowers and reads stories and doesn’t need to be asked twice.
I press my hand against Isla’s shoulder, grounding both of us. All I can think is—this is the life Emily left. The messy, beautiful, sticky-fingered life she walked away from. Now she wants back in, like this is some storybook redemption with a big emotional payoff waiting at the end.
I’ll give her a chance, but I’m also not here to make her feel better about the choices she made.
I’m the one who tucked Isla in at night, who wiped away tears and held her through every storm. I’ve bled for this little girl in every way that counts.
Love isn’t a fucking raffle you win just by turning up out of the blue. It’s built. Earned. Day by day. Fish by fish. Flower by flower.
