Page 2 of No One’s Daughter

​“I know,” I smiled.

​“Anyway, enough about me, how did that wedding cake go? I know you were nervous about it even if you’d never admit it.”

​“It was… fine actually, not nearly as anxiety-inducing as I thought it would be. You were, as always, right of course.”

​“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, pointing her nose skywards. “Your talents are wasted on mere children’s party cakes.”

I hummed my agreement. I mean she was right, and I really enjoyed the process of making a bigger cake. But equally, the bigger the cake, the bigger the responsibility and I’d hate to be the reason for a bride’s disappointment.

​We were just about to head to the set of stairs to the back of the entryway, the ones that led to the private function room Claire had hired for the occasion, when her fiancé greeted us, arms outstretched and smile bright.

​“Did you hear the good news?” He grinned, wrapping an arm around Claire after handing her a glass of bubbles, his other outstretched with the same drink for me. His shirt was simple—rolled sleeves, nothing fussy—and he carried himself well. He had a warmth to him that I liked.

​“I sure did,” I said, taking the offered drink. “Congratulations.”

​“Thanks, Ailsa.” he said, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth, dimples appearing in a way that felt boy-like.

​“I assume I don’t need to tell you that you’d better not screw with her or else,” I said, making a small motion across my throat to indicate decapitation.

​“Don’t be so dramatic,” Claire scolded, swatting my arm. “Besides, he’s stuck with me now—no backing out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it my dear,” Dominic replied, letting out a soft, almost nervous chuckle. He glanced at her then, not uncertain, just… aware, like he understood exactly what he’d been handed and didn’t intend to take it lightly.

Claire slipped her hand into his without thought, her smile bright and unguarded, and he squeezed it in return. Then, he nodded politely and turned to head back toward his family, Claire falling into step beside him as though there had never been any other place she might stand.

I smiled after them, the expression lingering longer than I expected.

But I’d meant what I said.

I’d kill anyone who harmed her.

​She was the only good thing in my life and the only person I’ve ever truly loved.

​I was happy for them—truly. Just because marriage wasn’t for me didn’t mean they couldn’t be happy together.

​Dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation and unfamiliar faces. Most of the room belonged to Dominic—his family, his friends, people who spoke easily to one another, who laughed without hesitation, who filled the space like they had every right to be there. Because they did, and they cared.

​Claire fit among them effortlessly, of course. Drawn into conversations, smiling, listening, shining in that way she always did. They welcomed her quickly and easily like she’d always meant to sit at their table.

​The majority of the rest of the attendees were Claire’s friends and co-workers.

​Our side of the table was much smaller. But still, Uncle Graham somehow managed to take up more space than he deserved, his voice cutting through conversations that had nothing to with him, loud in a way that was controlling. He laughed too hard at his own remarks, but silenced others. His wife sat beside him, quiet and neatly composted, hands folded in her lap or wrapped around her glass. She smiled when expected, nodded in the right places, but never offered anything of her own. It was as though she had perfected the art of being present without ever really being seen and above all, pleasing him.

​I stayed on the edge of it all, half-listening, half-watching, offering the occasional nod or forced smile when required. Names slipped past me as soon as they were spoken, blending into one indistinct hum. By the time plates were cleared and glasses refilled, I felt that familiar weight settle back in—the sense of being an extra in someone else's life, watching it unfold from just outside the frame.

​“Such a shame your mother isn’t here to see this day,” Uncle Graham began. “She’d be so proud.”

​Claire smiled and nodded. We knew the script. Though I sensed the shift in her micro expressions. Our mother would have been anything but. Jealous that something wasn’t about her, angry and embarrassing herself by drinking too much. Thankfully she wasn’t here, though. She had passed away a little over three years ago. But I’d already grieved my mother for everything she should have been and wasn’t long before that. Even now, we weren’t safe from the hurt she caused.

​“With any luck you’ll be next,” he said, nodding to me. “Though I suspect you’d need to wise up and finally act appropriately for that to happen. It’s no surprise Mike left you, really. I mean look at you.”

​I bit my tongue to not start a row. It’s what he wanted. He was goading me, but it wouldn’t work. I was well used to his jibes.

​Mike was a piece of shit, everyone who mattered knew that. And I left him, not that I was about to justify my life to him. Especially after what had happened.

​“It wasn’t like that,” Claire—who’d had one too many by this point—scolded Uncle Graham.

He made a disgruntled look as if he was taken aback by her choice of words. “And Ailsa can wear whatever she wants. She looks beautiful, unlike you… who looks more like a shrivelled up ballbag day by day.”