Forgiveness, Trust & Forever

Hero

For one second, none of us moved.
Not Anna by the locked front door.
Not Jen with my phone in her hand.
Not Emily in the middle of the room, one hand still gripping the curtains she had just yanked shut.
Not me with Eleanora crying against my chest.
Outside, someone shouted my name again.
Closer this time.
Too close.
"Hero!"
Eleanora sobbed harder, her tiny fists twisting in my shirt, her whole little body shaking with the kind of fear she was too small to understand and too innocent to deserve.
I turned away from the window instantly, moving into the kitchen where the noise was muffled.
"I've got you," I whispered into her hair. "I've got you, baby. You're safe."
Her crying didn't stop.
Of course it didn't.
Because I kept saying safe like that made it true.
Emily's voice cut through the room behind me.
"How the hell did they get through the gates?"
I looked back.
She had moved to the window again, but not close enough to be seen. Just enough to peer through the tiniest gap between the curtain and wall.
Her face was white.
Angry white.
Not scared anymore.
That was worse.
Anna crossed to her. "They're not through the gates."
Emily's jaw tightened. "Then how did they get that photo?"
Jen looked down at the message again. "Taken from across the road, maybe. Long lens."
Emily turned on her. "Across the road is still private property if they're blocking the driveway."
"I know," Jen said carefully. "I'm not defending them."
Emily dragged both hands through her damp hair, then seemed to remember too late that she was still in last night's dress and my mother's borrowed jumper. Her eyes flicked to Eleanora, then away just as quickly.
But not before I saw it.
The crack in her armour.
The guilt.
The fear.
The part of her that had moved without thinking when our daughter startled.
I wanted to say something.
I didn't.
I was learning that with Emily, naming things too quickly only made her kill them.
Anna looked at Jen. "Call security."
Emily shook her head. "There isn't security."
Anna frowned. "You have gates."
"I have gates, not a personal army."
"The garage?"
Emily nodded, already moving towards the hall. "The garage is underneath. My car's there."
"Can they get to it?"
"Not unless they get through the main gates or the internal door from the studio."
I looked around the flat again, my mind reworking everything.
It was above Emily's dance studio.
Her studio.
Her name.
Her work.
Her life.
The building was hers in a way that made my chest ache. Not because of the paperwork. That was messy enough, with my name still on things it should not have been on and memories tied up in bricks and bank transfers.
But because she had built something here after me.
A studio downstairs.
A garage beneath.
A private driveway tucked behind black gates.
A place she had turned into a fortress without ever calling it one.
And I had just brought my chaos straight to the door.
"I shouldn't have come here," I said.
Emily turned.
For once, she didn't argue.
That hurt more.
Outside, another shout rose from the street.
"Emily! Is the baby inside?"
Her face hardened.
"No one gets into this building," she said.
It came out like a vow.
Eleanora's sobs had softened into hiccups against my neck. I rocked her gently, rubbing circles over her back, keeping my voice low.
"She needs to sleep," I said.
Emily's eyes went to her.
For one second, she looked helpless.
Then she blinked it away and nodded towards the hallway.
"Take her to the back bedroom."
My stomach tightened.
Her bedroom.
Our old bedroom.
"Emily-"
"It's quiet," she said sharply, like she could hear the hesitation and hated me for it. "That's all."
I nodded.
"That's all."
Liar.
Both of us.
I carried Eleanora down the hallway, away from the drawn curtains, away from the shouting outside, away from Anna and Jen already speaking in low, urgent voices.
The bedroom door was half open.
I stopped on the threshold.
The room was Emily everywhere.
Soft white bedding.
Clothes folded over the chair in a way that looked casual but somehow still neat.
A half-burned candle on the bedside table.
A pair of ballet shoes hanging from a hook on the wardrobe.
Her perfume in the air.
Not the sharp, polished scent from last night.
This was quieter.
Warmer.
The scent of her when she wasn't performing for a room full of people.
My throat closed.
I had not been in this room since it had been ours.
Back then, the walls were darker. My clothes were usually on the floor. Emily used to complain that I stole the good pillows. There had been photos stuck around the mirror and scripts on the bedside table and her university books stacked beside my trainers.
Now there was no sign of me.
Except, when I moved further in, there was.
A hoodie hung over the back of the chair.
Grey.
Old.
Mine.
My chest went still.
I knew that hoodie.
I had lost it years ago.
Emily had claimed she threw it out.
Of course she had.
Eleanora sniffled, bringing me back.
"Sorry, baby," I whispered.
I set her down carefully in the middle of the bed for a second, one hand on her tummy so she wouldn't roll. She stared up at me with watery eyes, bottom lip trembling, rabbit clutched to her chest.
"You're okay," I murmured. "I'm right here."
She made a broken little sound and reached for me.
I picked her straight back up.
So much for setting up the cot quickly.
Behind me, Emily appeared in the doorway.
She didn't step in.
Her eyes went to Eleanora first, then to the hoodie, then to me.
A flush climbed her throat.
"I thought you binned that," I said quietly.
Her chin lifted. "I thought a lot of things."
Fair.
The words sat between us, heavy with everything we were not saying.
She crossed her arms. "Anna's calling the police. Jen's sending the threatening messages to legal. The studio is losing their collective minds. Your director has apparently decided this is all my fault."
I looked down at Eleanora, who was slowly calming now that the room was quiet.
"He can join the queue."
Emily huffed.
Almost a laugh.
Almost.
Then she looked around her bedroom like she was seeing it through my eyes and hated how much of herself was exposed in it.
"I'll get changed and then you can put her down in here," she said.
"You don't have to leave your own room."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't."
"Hero."
Her tone warned me not to push.
I pushed anyway.
"She's one, Emily. She's not going to judge your bedroom."
"But you will."
That caught me.
I looked at her properly.
Her face was tight, defensive, but there was vulnerability beneath it. Not about the bed. Not really.
About the life she had built in the space I used to occupy.
About whether I could walk into it and see all the ways she had survived me.
"No," I said. "I won't."
She didn't believe me.
I couldn't blame her.
Eleanora's eyes started to droop against my shoulder, the leftover tremors of crying still moving through her now and again.
Emily watched her.
Not with love.
Not exactly.
With something much more complicated.
Curiosity.
Fear.
Pain.
"She settles for you quickly," she said.
"Not always."
"She does."
"You're seeing the good bits."
Emily's mouth tightened. "I've seen the screaming bits too."
"Not all of them."
Her eyes flicked to mine.
I shifted Eleanora gently. "She had colic for weeks after I brought her home. Wouldn't sleep unless I walked with her. I used to count the floorboards at three in the morning just to stay awake."
Emily's face changed.
"I didn't know that."
"I didn't tell you."
"Why?"
I almost laughed.
"Would you have wanted to know?"
The question was cruel.
Her answer was worse.
"No."
Honest.
Immediate.
A blade cleanly drawn.
I nodded.
Eleanora's lashes fluttered.
Emily looked at the floor.
"I'm sorry."
I went still.
She didn't say it often.
Not to me.
Not about this.
Her jaw worked like the words hurt coming out.
"I didn't want to know," she continued quietly. "Not because I didn't care if she was crying. I just..." She swallowed. "If I knew, then I had to feel something. And I was so tired of feeling like a bad person."
I looked at her.
Really looked.
Not as the woman who had hurt me.
Not as the girl who had chosen adoption.
Not as the mother I had been angry she wasn't.
Just Emily.
Twenty years old and terrified.
Twenty-one and dragged through court.
Now standing in her doorway while our daughter fell asleep on my chest, admitting she had hidden from pain because she was already drowning in it.
"You're not a bad person," I said.
Her eyes filled instantly.
She looked away.
"Yes, I am."
"No."
"Good mothers don't need to be talked into caring."
"Good fathers don't drag mothers through court because they're angry."
Her eyes came back to me.
I hadn't planned to say it.
The words surprised us both.
"I was protecting her," I said, before she could respond. "I know that. I will never regret fighting for Eleanora. But I wasn't only protecting her."
Emily stood very still.
"I wanted to win," I admitted.
The shame of it crawled up my throat.
"I wanted the judge to look at you and see what I saw. Someone who had hurt me. Someone who had hidden my daughter. Someone who wanted to give away the only good thing left between us." My voice dropped. "I wanted you punished for not needing me."
Emily's lips parted.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, almost too quietly to hear, "I did need you."
My chest cracked.
She looked down immediately, like the truth had escaped by mistake.
I took one step towards her.
Eleanora stirred, and I stopped.
Emily saw that too.
The way our daughter stopped me.
The way she came first.
The way she always would.
Something painful crossed her face.
The moment shattered when Anna appeared behind her.
"Police are outside," she said. "They're talking to the photographers, but unless anyone tries to force the gates, they can't do much. Apparently standing in the road shouting at a baby is not illegal if they call it journalism."
Emily's jaw clenched.
"My studio has cameras."
Anna straightened. "What?"
"CCTV. In the dance studio, the garage, the driveway, outside the gates."
Jen appeared behind Anna with my phone. "Can we access it?"
Emily nodded. "Office downstairs."
I looked at Eleanora, then at the half-built travel cot still in the living room.
"You go," Anna said to me. "I'll set up the cot."
"No."
"Hero."
"She's sleeping."
Anna's eyes softened. "Then sit with her. I'll help Emily."
Emily stiffened at the word help but didn't refuse.
Jen held up my phone. "We need to know if the person who sent the photo is outside. Cameras might show the car that followed us."
My body wanted to move.
My daughter needed me still.
That was fatherhood, I was learning.
Constantly wanting to fight and being trapped by a sleeping baby on your chest.
Emily noticed.
"I know the system," she said. "I'll do it."
"I'm coming."
"You can't," she said, eyes dropping to Eleanora.
"I can put her down."
"She'll wake."
"You don't know that."
Emily gave me a look.
Fair.
Even she could see Eleanora's tiny fist still twisted in my shirt.
"I'll go," Emily said.
"Not alone."
"I'm not made of glass."
"No, you're made of petrol and bad decisions."
Her mouth opened.
Anna muttered, "He's not wrong."
Emily glared at her.
I would have smiled if everything wasn't on fire.
Jen stepped forward. "I'll go with her."
That seemed to satisfy no one, but it was the only option that made sense.
Emily pushed off the doorframe. "Fine."
She turned to leave, then stopped.
Her eyes went back to Eleanora.
"She's really asleep?"
I looked down.
Eleanora's cheek was squished against my shoulder, lips slightly parted, rabbit trapped between us. Her lashes were wet, but her breathing had evened out.
"Yeah."
Emily nodded.
For some reason, she looked sad.
Then she disappeared down the hall with Jen.
Anna watched her go, then looked at me.
"What?"
She arched a brow. "Nothing."
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking loudly."
Anna came into the room and started unfolding the travel cot beside the bed.
"I'm thinking this is a mess."
"That's not news."
"I'm thinking your director is going to try to bury you."
"Let him."
"I'm thinking Jo looked guilty."
My gaze snapped to hers.
Anna didn't soften it.
"You saw it too."
"I don't know what I saw."
"Yes, you do."
I looked down at Eleanora.
Her tiny fingers flexed once against my shirt.
"Jo wouldn't hurt a baby."
Anna's silence was answer enough.
I looked up.
"She wouldn't."
"Maybe not directly," Anna said. "But jealousy makes people stupid. And people who convince themselves they're the good guy can do a lot of damage before they admit they're holding the knife."
My stomach turned.
Jo's face in the hallway.
Her soft voice.
Maybe we should just do what he says for now.
Ava's too-perfect text.
The article stitching together pieces from two worlds that should never have touched.
I closed my eyes.
"I trusted her."
"I know."
"She knew about Emily."
"Exactly."
I opened my eyes.
Anna clicked the cot into place with more aggression than necessary.
"She knew where to press," she said. "The fake romance. The adoption. The court. The idea that Emily was the past you needed to escape."
I hated that she was making sense.
"I need proof."
"Then let Jen get it."
A sound came from downstairs.
Not a crash.
Not shouting.
A door.
My head lifted.
Anna heard it too.
Eleanora stirred.
We both froze.
Another sound followed.
A low voice.
Then Emily's, sharp and furious.
"You should not be here."
My blood went cold.
Anna straightened.
I moved towards the door with Eleanora still in my arms.
"Stay here," Anna said.
"No."
"Hero, the baby-"
"I know."
That was the problem.
I stepped into the hallway just as Jen came running up the stairs.
Her face was pale.
"It's Hayden."
Of course it was.
I handed Eleanora to Anna before my brain caught up with my body.
She took her instantly.
"Hero."
"I'm not going to hit him."
Anna's look said she did not believe me.
I wasn't sure I believed me either.
Eleanora whined at being passed over, tiny face scrunching.
The sound almost stopped me.
Almost.
Then Emily's voice rose from below.
"Get out of my studio."
My vision narrowed.
I took the stairs two at a time.
The studio came into view through the glass door at the bottom.
And standing in the middle of it, soaked from the rain and red-faced with anger, was Hayden.
Emily stood opposite him, arms folded, every inch of her body locked.
Jen hovered near the office door, phone in hand, clearly ready to call someone.
Hayden's head snapped towards me when I entered.
His eyes dropped to my bare feet, my wrinkled shirt, the mark on my neck he had probably seen last night before he hit me.
His face twisted.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I stepped into the studio.
"Leave."
Hayden laughed, but it came out ugly. "This is her studio."
"And she told you to get out."
His eyes cut to Emily. "Is this what you want?"
Emily's jaw tightened.
"Hayden-"
"No, answer me." He stepped towards her. "You disappear all night, the news breaks, and now you're locked in here with him and the baby you swore you couldn't raise?"
The words hit like a slap.
Emily flinched.
I moved before I could stop myself.
"Careful."
Hayden turned on me. "You don't get to warn me in her building."
"I do when you talk to her like that."
He laughed again. "Of course. Hero to the rescue. Does it make you feel better? Playing devoted dad and wounded lover after you dragged her into court and humiliated her?"
"That's enough," Emily said.
But Hayden wasn't looking at her anymore.
He was looking at me.
"You always do this," he said. "You show up, break her open, and leave someone else to clean up the blood."
My fists curled.
Behind me, Jen said, "Hero."
A warning.
I heard it.
Barely.
Hayden stepped closer, voice low enough that the press outside wouldn't hear, but cruel enough that Emily would.
"She didn't want your kid then. What makes you think she wants her now?"
The room went still.
Something inside me went quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
Emily's face had gone blank.
Not angry.
Not hurt.
Blank.
Like he had just dragged out the ugliest part of her and held it under studio lights.
I took one step forward.
Hayden braced.
Emily moved between us.
"Stop," she said.
Her hand landed on my chest.
Not pushing.
Stopping.
I looked down at her fingers.
So did Hayden.
So did she.
Her hand stayed there.
For one second too long.
Hayden saw everything he needed to.
His face changed.
"You slept with him."
Emily closed her eyes.
I hated that I could not undo last night.
I hated that I did not want to.
Hayden looked at her like she had betrayed him, but beneath it was something possessive that made my skin crawl.
"You actually slept with him."
Emily dropped her hand from my chest.
"That is none of your business."
He stared at her. "I'm your boyfriend."
"Then act like it," she snapped. "Because right now, you are standing in my studio shouting about a one-year-old child while photographers are outside my gates."
Hayden's jaw clenched.
"She's not your responsibility."
The words landed wrong.
Even he seemed to realise it.
Emily went completely still.
I watched her.
My heart began to pound.
Hayden softened his voice. "Em, you told me yourself. You said you couldn't do it. You said being around her made you feel like you were drowning."
Emily's face crumpled for half a second.
"Don't," she whispered.
"I'm trying to protect you."
"No," she said, louder now. "You're trying to make sure I stay exactly where you understand me."
Hayden blinked.
Emily stepped back from both of us.
"I said I couldn't be her mother. I said I didn't know how to want her. I said a lot of things because I was scared and ashamed and so tired of everyone deciding what that made me." Her voice shook. "But she is upstairs. She is frightened. And you do not get to stand here and talk about her like she's a mistake I made with him."
My chest stopped.
Hayden looked stunned.
So did I.
Emily looked it too.
Like the words had come from somewhere she had not known existed.
The studio fell silent.
Then, faintly, from upstairs, Eleanora cried.
A small, tired cry.
Emily's head snapped up.
So did mine.
Hayden looked between us.
The moment stretched.
Emily took one step towards the stairs.
Then stopped.
Her hands shook at her sides.
I could see the war in her.
Go.
Stay.
Run.
Try.
I softened my voice. "I'll get her."
Emily looked at me.
Relief flashed first.
Then shame.
Then something else.
"No," she whispered.
I went still.
She swallowed.
"I'll..." Her voice failed.
Hayden stared at her. "Emily."
She ignored him.
Her eyes stayed on me.
"I'll come with you."
Not I'll get her.
Not yet.
But I'll come with you.
For Emily, that was a mountain.
I nodded.
"Okay."
Hayden stepped forward. "Em-"
Emily turned on him.
"Leave."
His face hardened. "You don't mean that."
"I do."
"No, you're overwhelmed."
"I am furious," she corrected. "And you need to leave before I call the police and have you removed from my studio."
Hayden stared at her like he did not recognise the woman in front of him.
Maybe he didn't.
Maybe none of us did yet.
Jen moved to the reception desk and picked up the phone.
Hayden noticed.
His mouth pressed into a thin line.
"This isn't over."
Emily's laugh was quiet and cold.
"Yes," she said. "It is."
He looked at me once.
Pure hatred.
Then he turned and stormed towards the back entrance that led out through the garage.
The second the door slammed, Emily's knees almost gave.
I caught her elbow.
She let me.
Only for a second.
Then she stepped away.
"Don't make it a thing," she said.
"I wasn't going to."
"You were."
"I was thinking about it."
Despite herself, her mouth twitched.
Then Eleanora cried again upstairs.
Emily's face changed.
The tiny almost-smile vanished.
Fear came back.
I didn't reach for her this time.
I just started towards the stairs.
After one second, she followed.
Behind us, Jen called out, "Hero."
I turned.
She held up her laptop from the office desk.
Her face was tense.
"I found the CCTV from the driveway."
"And?"
Her eyes flicked to Emily.
Then back to me.
"The person who followed us didn't come through the gates."
A cold line moved down my spine.
Jen swallowed.
"They were already inside."