Page 45 of Scars and Crowns

"Didn't I?" His question is quiet.

Simple.

"Isn't she my daughter now too?" He pauses briefly before adding with characteristic care—"Legally, she is." A small smile touches his lips. "I don't expect her to call me anything she isn't ready for." His eyes drift toward Sara. "And I never will." The tenderness in his voice almost undoes me. "I don't know what place I'll eventually have in her heart." He smiles faintly. "But I know where she already has one in mine."

My throat tightens. "I already told you." He looks back at me. "I intend to spend my life making sure both of you are happy."

He nods toward Sara, who's now arranging coloured pencils in perfect rainbow order. "Look at her."

I do.

She's smiling to herself. Completely absorbed.

"You can't let your pride steal moments like this from her." His voice softens even more. "So . . . " He gives me one of those patient looks that somehow always makes arguing feel impossible. "For once . . . stop being stubborn.” A pause. ”Just let yourself enjoy it."

Something inside me finally gives way. Not dramatically. Quietly. Like a wall that's been standing for years suddenly realising it doesn't have to anymore. I blink quickly.

Too late.

My eyes burn. I lower my head before the tears have a chance to escape. "Thank you . . . "

The words barely leave my lips. He reaches toward me before I can finish. His thumb brushes lightly across my cheek. Such a small touch. Gentle enough that it almost isn't there. Yet somehow it still stills every thought inside my head. He pulls back almost immediately as if realizing what he’s doing, "Daisy." Just one word. Just that old nickname. And somehow . . . After all these years . . . it still finds every fragile place inside me with terrifying accuracy.

I lift my eyes to his. What I want to say has nothing to do with school fees. Nothing to do with gratitude. I want to tell him I'm tired. Tired of measuring every sentence before I speak. Tired of protecting myself from a man who's only ever tried to protect me. Tired of pretending this marriage exists only on paper when every quiet kindness he shows me keeps making it feel more real.

I want to tell him I don't want distance anymore. I don't want polite gratitude. I don't want careful boundaries. I don't want to stand beside him wondering whether I'm allowed to lean. I don't want to be his responsibility. I want to be his wife.

Properly.

Completely.

The words remain trapped exactly where they've always lived. Inside me.

Instead I smile weakly. "Have you made it your life's mission to make me cry?"

“If it were in my control,” He sucks in a breath, “I would never let you cry.”

My breath hitches as my heart hammers against my ribs. I try to laugh it off. It comes out softer than intended.

"And please . . . " He shakes his head gently. "Stop making everything so formal."

He grows quiet. For a long moment he simply watches me. There's something in his eyes I can't quite understand. It almost looks like sadness. Yet his smile never leaves. Finally he speaks. "Aren't we still friends?"

The question lands somewhere deep inside me.

Friends.

Once . . . That word had been enough. It had carried everything we couldn't say aloud. Everything we weren't brave enough to name. Back then . . . It had felt safe.

Now . . . It feels painfully small. Because somewhere along the way . . . Without even noticing . . . I'd stopped wanting to be only that.

I don't know whether he has.

And suddenly . . . I'm afraid to ask. So I smile. Reach slowly and wrap my fingers around the hand resting on his lap, allowing myself one touch, "Yes." My voice comes quietly. "We're friends."

He exhales almost imperceptibly. A private sort of relief flickers across his expression before disappearing again. "Good." He squeezes my hand once. "So . . . " His eyes don't leave mine. "We'll do everything together."

A tiny smile. "Deal?"