“You want something, Pops?” I call over my shoulder.
She laughs, the sound bright and innocent. “Dad, I don’t drink coffee. You know that.”
I smile despite everything. “I mean anything I can get you.”
“No, thanks.”
The coffee machine gurgles to life. I stare out at the back garden while I wait, watching the fading sunlight cast long shadows across the lawn. Everything’s changing. My daughter’s leaving for Juilliard. I’m falling deeper for a woman half my age. A woman who doesn’t really remember me. And Dom...
Dom would kill me if he knew what Amara, and I had done. What we’re planning to do. That’s if she remembers.
But it’s just a threat—isn’t it? He wouldn’t kill me.
No. I know Dom too well. We’ve been friends for years, bonded through grief, but I’ve seen what he does to people who cross him.
The coffee machine beeps, jarring me from my thoughts.
“Dad?” Poppy’s voice is closer now. She’s standing in the doorway. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re staring at that coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe.”
“Just thinking.”
“About Amara?” She’s too perceptive, my daughter.
I pour the coffee into my mug, watching the steam rise. “Poppy, if something happened to me—”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t talk like that.”
I’d never leave Poppy alone. But what am I risking by seeing Amara tonight?
I set my coffee down and turn to face my daughter. The weight of everything I’m not telling her sits heavy on my chest.
“Poppy, if something happened to me, I need you to know that my will is in the safe in my office. The combination is your birthday.”
Her face pales. “Dad, what the hell?”
“You’re my sole beneficiary. Everything goes to you—the house, my retirement fund, the—”
“Stop it.” She steps forward, her green eyes wide with alarm. “Why are you talking like this? Are you sick? Is that what this is about?”
I shake my head. “Just thinking about life and how I got here.”
“This is about Amara, isn’t it? I know she nearly died, but she didn’t.” Her voice softens.
“She could easily have.”
She sighs. “Dad, you need to date again. Proper date.”
“Would you mind if I did? If I found someone?”
Poppy’s expression shifts from concern to something gentler. “I think ten years is a long time to grieve.”
We look at each other, the unspoken presence of her mother hanging between us.
“She was wonderful...your mom. She loved you so much. She’d be so proud of you.”
Poppy’s eyes lace with tears as she nods.
I step forward and pull her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. She feels smaller somehow, like she’s shrinking back into the little girl who used to fall asleep on my shoulder. I breathe in the scent of her shampoo, trying to memorize this moment.
