Poppy/H.S

Chapter 41

Harry's pov

"Daddy?" The little girl, sat in the backseat of my Range Rover, asks me.

"Everything alright, flower?" I quickly glance in the rearview mirror to be met with the sight of my daughter playing Township on my phone.

"Are you talking to the flowers or me?" she asks me, and I can't help but chuckle at the pun, "I'm confused," she adds, not taking her eyes off the phone.

"Who do you think I'm talking to?" I ask her cheekily, loving how funny she is.

"Well, it's hard to tell, daddy," she huffs, "I don't think the flowers want to talk to you though."

"Why wouldn't they want to talk to me?" I laugh at the irony, tightening my grip on the steering wheel as I take a right turn, my eyes focused on the road.

"Because they're sad you took them away from their mummy and daddy," she pouts.

"I don't really think these flowers have a mummy and daddy. They just grow wherever a seed is planted," I try to explain it to her, even though I hated biology at school.

"But you took them away from their flower family," she argues, still not willing to take her eyes off the phone.

"I didn't just take them away," I sigh, explaining the situation to her, "I bought them."

"Same thing," she says strictly.

"It's not the same thing," I tell her, "I paid for them. The florist took my money and gave me the flowers legally, Poppy."

"I still think they're sad," she says, "You should've bought all the flowers then, not just a few. You took them away from their friends and family."

"Alright, I'm sorry," I give up, knowing very well there's no point in arguing with my own daughter, who's very much just as stubborn as I am, "Do you think they'll forgive me?"

"Yes," she says, "They look happier now."

"Good," I chuckle, admiring the way her imagination works.

"How long till we get there?" She asks me impatiently.

"Only a few more minutes," I answer her question, dedicating all my attention to what's happening on the roads.

"Do you think Valentine will be happy to see us?" She asks me, curious.

"I hope so," I smile at the mention of the woman of my dreams.

"Are you sure she's home, daddy?" She asks me, "I really don't want to stay in the car any longer."

"Don't worry, flower," I assure her, "She should be home cause it's Sunday. She never works on Sundays."

"Okay," she hums, satisfied with my answer, "Does that mean tomorrow's Monday?" she asks me, and I can sense the anxiety in her voice.

"Yes," I clear my throat, "Monday follows after Sunday, you're a smart girl."

"D-do I have to go to kindy tomorrow?" She asks me, her voice shaky.

"Do you want to?" I wait for her honest answer, even though I can already tell what it's gonna be.

"Not really," she whispers.

"Okay," I acknowledge her opinion, respecting what she's saying, "You don't have to. We'll talk more about it in the evening, yeah?"

"Thank you, daddy," she smiles, and I nod my head in acknowledgement.

Poppy hasn't been to kindergarten ever since Valentine had to pick her up that day, and honestly, I'm dreading the thought of her going back there as well. I contacted Poppy's kindergarten supervisors the following day after the incident, and they acted as if nothing serious had happened, which only made Valentine angry, since she told me she had a word with one of the teachers who promised to give me the contact information of Vanessa's parents. However, it seems like the kindergarten doesn't want to ruin its reputation by admitting their supervision had failed, since they let something like that happen to Poppy.