Poppy/H.S

Chapter 13

I take a deep breath, take a quick glance at my shiny high heels to remind myself how strong I am, and force my anxious self to knock on the black door. Today is Friday, meaning, that four days have passed since the last time I saw Harry and Poppy and agreed to babysit the sweet girl for him so that he could travel to another continent for work.

It has been four days since Harry let the sad words fall from his lips, entrusting me with the fact that Poppy's mother was out of the picture and Poppy didn't even know who she was, as she didn't want to be involved in Poppy's life at all.

I couldn't help but wonder, what led her to made such a decision, the time giving birth to Poppy being both the first and last time she ever saw her daughter, the perfect mixture of her and Harry.

However, Harry doesn't feel sorry for himself even a little. Although it's just hom and Poppy, him having the full custody of her. I've worked on tons of cases involving single mothers, many of them asking for help from their ex-partners and submitting their alimony request letters. From what they've said to me, it's extremely hard to parent a child by yourself, not having another partner to lean on and facing the question why your kids don't have both a daddy and a mummy, like all of the other kids in kindergarten do. To me, a single parent is a hero.

Once being a single parent, there's no such thing as taking a break from parenting. It must be extremely hard to participate in the child's upbringing by yourself, being the only person your child looks up to. That's a lot of pressure for one person, but from what I can tell, Harry has mastered the task. Poppy is an exact copy of him, personality-wise speaking. It's easily noticeable that Poppy takes after him. Even though she's so little, barely reaching my waist, she's a much bigger person on the inside, having the heart of gold.

Never in my life have I seen such a polite little girl who knows her manners. She never forgets to say all the magic words that many kids tend to forget. Either Harry has read way too many books on parenting, or he's been born to be a dad. There's just two types of parents; the ones who write the books on parenting and those who read them. Harry's such a responsible father. Poppy has always been his priority, the proof being the fact he wanted to cancel his work trip to LA, that he's been looking forward to for weeks, because he didn't want to take her with him, since she'd miss out on the time in kindergarten.

I could see that a huge rock has been lifted off his shoulders when I said I would babysit her, sparing him the time of interviewing complete strangers and explaining his situation to them. Harry gave me a call on Wednesday, asking if I was really sure about the babysitting and after saying yes and assuring him I'd look after her, he thanked me one more time and said he'd call me again to give me the directions to his house.

He texted me his address yesterday and called me a few minutes after to give me the directions from the train station. Agreeing that it would be quite a long walk from the station to his house, he kindly ordered an Uber for me. The driver dropped me off at the neighbouring street, since Harry was extra careful about his address remaining hidden from the public eye.

Here I am, standing in front of his intimidatingly-looking door, and bringing myself to knock. I wanted to ring the bell first, but considering Poppy might be having her afternoon nap, I've decided not to. I hated having my afternoon naps as a kid. I smile at the sound of the loud happy clatter coming from the other side of the door, signaling Poppy is far from asleep.

"Valentine, you're here!" she exclaims after opening the door which has let out a creaking noise. A huge smile is painted across her lips, her eyes shiny with happiness, quite the opposite of what I had thought her mood would be. I thought she'd feel devastated about Harry leaving.

"Hi, Poppy. I'm happy to see you again," I smile. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, come in! Where are my manners? I should've told you that first," she says, knocking a finger on her head. I let out a laugh at the sight of her forgetful self.