Forgiveness, Trust & Forever

Hero

Emily called her Boo.
I heard it from the doorway.
Soft.
Almost afraid.
Like the name had slipped out of a locked room and she wasn't sure whether she had permission to use it in daylight.
"Hi, Boo," she whispered.
I stopped breathing.
Eleanora lay in the cot beneath the clouds and stars, one tiny hand wrapped around Emily's finger. Morning crept through the nursery curtains, pale and gentle, touching the green walls, the mobile, the clean sheet, the woman I loved standing over the daughter she was still terrified to claim.
I should have looked away.
That moment wasn't mine.
Not fully.
Boo had been theirs before I even knew Eleanora existed. A name whispered beneath Emily's ribs. A name Brandon heard before I did. A name that belonged to the months I had missed and the fear I had mistaken for rejection.
But I couldn't look away.
Because Emily wasn't running.
She wasn't frozen in the doorway.
She wasn't speaking about Eleanora like she belonged to some other life, some other woman, some version of herself she had buried.
She was there.
Bent over the cot.
Finger caught in our daughter's fist.
Tears slipping silently down her face.
"I'm here," she whispered.
Eleanora made a tiny sound.
Not a word.
Barely anything.
But Emily closed her eyes like it had gone straight through her.
I gripped the doorframe.
Partly because my ribs were screaming.
Mostly because my knees had forgotten their job.
Emily didn't turn around.
"I know you're there."
I swallowed. "Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No."
A breath left her. Almost a laugh. Almost a sob.
"Are you making the proud face?"
"I'm trying very hard not to."
"Try harder."
"I'm injured."
"That excuse has an expiry date."
"Not today."
She finally looked over her shoulder.
Her eyes were wet.
Her face was tired.
Her hair was a mess, one strand still pulled loose from where Eleanora had grabbed it in the night.
She had never looked more beautiful.
That was dangerous, so I said nothing.
Which was apparently also dangerous, because her expression sharpened.
"Don't look at me like that."
"I haven't said anything."
"You don't have to. Your face is loud."
"I've been told I'm emotionally obvious."
"By very clever people."
"One very clever person."
She looked back at Eleanora before I could make it worse.
Our daughter still held her finger, waving it slightly with the clumsy power of someone who had no idea she was rearranging the entire world.
Emily's mouth softened.
"She knows me."
The words were so small I almost missed them.
My chest tightened.
"Yes."
"No, don't just say yes because you want it to be true."
"She knows you," I said.
Emily stared at Eleanora.
"How?"
My throat worked.
"How could she not?"
Her shoulders trembled.
I stepped into the room slowly, careful to keep distance. Not because I didn't want to touch her. Because I did. Because if I touched her now, I didn't know if either of us would survive the tenderness of it.
"She heard your voice before she heard mine," I said.
Emily's breath caught.
"She knew your heartbeat. Your laugh. Your stress. Your terrible language when she kicked too hard."
A wet laugh escaped her.
"I was very polite while pregnant."
"Were you?"
"No."
"I didn't think so."
She wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist, still not pulling her finger away from Eleanora.
"She knew you first," I said quietly.
Emily looked down at our daughter.
"But you were there after."
"Yes."
"And I wasn't."
"No."
The honesty hurt.
It hurt both of us.
But it had to sit there, because pretending otherwise would only make the room another locked door.
Emily nodded once.
Small.
Accepting the hit.
Not collapsing under it.
"I hate that," she whispered.
"I know."
"I hate that she had to learn me as an absence."
My eyes burned.
"Emily."
"No." She shook her head. "Don't soften it. I did that. Whatever reasons I had, whatever fear, whatever court, whatever illness or shame or grief, I did that."
"Yes," I said quietly. "You did."
She flinched.
But she didn't walk away.
I forced myself to keep going.
"And now you're doing this."
Her lips parted.
"This doesn't erase that."
"No."
"It doesn't fix it."
"No."
"It might not be enough."
"No," I said. "It might not."
She looked at me then, really looked, and I saw how badly she had needed someone not to lie.
Not to make it prettier.
Not to pat her head and call one night of courage redemption.
Her eyes filled again.
"But it matters," I said.
Her fingers tightened around the cot rail.
"It matters that you stayed when she cried," I continued. "It matters that you made the bottle. It matters that you called her Boo. It matters that right now, she's holding your finger and you're letting her."
Emily swallowed.
Eleanora tugged her finger towards her mouth.
Emily froze.
"She's going to bite me."
"She has two and a half teeth. You'll survive."
"She looks determined."
"She is your daughter."
"She is also yours, so she'll be dramatic about it."
Eleanora shoved Emily's finger against her gums and made a frustrated noise.
Emily stared.
Then looked at me.
"What do I do?"
"Distract her."
"With what?"
I looked around the nursery and picked up the small rabbit from the cot, then stopped before handing it over.
Emily held out her free hand.
I placed it in her palm.
She jiggled the rabbit clumsily near Eleanora's face.
"Look," Emily said, her voice soft but uncertain. "Rabbit."
Eleanora blinked.
"Very exciting rabbit."
Eleanora opened her mouth.
"Please don't eat my finger."
I choked on a laugh, which turned into a cough, which made my ribs threaten divorce from the rest of my body.
Emily glared at me.
"Don't die while I'm bonding. It's distracting."
"I'll do my best."
Eleanora released Emily's finger and grabbed for the rabbit.
Emily's face lit with ridiculous, startled triumph.
"She did it."
"She did."
"I distracted her."
"Expertly."
"Don't patronise me."
"I'm terrified of you."
"Good."
But she was smiling.
Small.
Tired.
Real.
Eleanora shoved the rabbit into her mouth and gummed one ear with enormous concentration.
Emily watched like she had just witnessed a scientific breakthrough.
"This is disgusting."
"It's her rabbit."
"It still has an ear in her mouth."
"She likes the ear."
"That doesn't make it less disgusting."
I leaned against the wall because standing was becoming harder to pretend at.
Emily noticed immediately.
The smile vanished.
"Sit down."
"I'm fine."
Her head snapped up.
I corrected myself before she could murder me.
"I am... upright."
"Barely."
"Accurate."
She looked around, then pointed to the old chair in the corner. The one with my jacket still thrown over the back. The one we had both avoided yesterday because it looked too much like a ghost had been waiting there.
"Sit."
I hesitated.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Hero."
I sat.
The chair creaked under me, familiar and strange. My old leather jacket brushed the back of my neck, cold and dusty.
I had left it here years ago.
Or maybe Emily had kept it.
I didn't know which possibility hurt more.
Emily watched me for a second, then turned back to Eleanora.
The room settled.
For ten minutes, maybe more, we stayed like that.
Eleanora awake in the cot, waving the rabbit, occasionally making soft sounds that meant nothing and everything.
Emily standing beside her, answering nonsense like it was conversation.
Me in the chair, bruised and silent and trying not to ruin the fragile peace by wanting too much.
Eventually, Emily said, "Your mum will call soon."
"Probably."
"She'll want to know if you're alive."
"She tracks that obsessively."
"She'll want to know about Eleanora."
"Yes."
"She'll want to know about me."
I looked at her.
Emily's eyes stayed on the cot.
The morning light made the tension in her face clearer. She wasn't only tired. She was bracing.
My mother had loved Emily once.
Not casually.
Not because she had to.
Mum had pulled Emily into the family before any of us were ready for what that meant. She had fed her, worried over her, scolded me on her behalf, wrapped presents with her name in the same handwriting as ours.
Then everything had collapsed.
And Mum had been left with me broken, a baby, court documents, and a woman she didn't know how to forgive.
"She'll be careful," I said.
Emily laughed quietly.
"Your mum has never been careful in her life. She says what she thinks and then feeds people until they recover."
I smiled despite the ache in my lip.
"That's true."
Emily touched the cot rail.
"Does she hate me?"
The question was quiet.
It still landed like a weight.
"No."
"Hero."
"She was angry."
"That's not what I asked."
I leaned forward slightly, wincing.
"No. She doesn't hate you."
Emily closed her eyes.
"She should."
"She doesn't."
"She looked at me at the house like she wanted to say a hundred things."
"She did."
"And?"
"And she didn't because Eleanora was in the room."
Emily nodded.
"I don't blame her."
"I know."
"She raised your daughter when I wouldn't."
I froze.
Emily's eyes opened.
She looked at me.
Then at the cot.
Then she corrected herself, voice shaking.
"Our daughter."
My chest tightened so sharply I almost couldn't breathe.
Emily rubbed at her forehead.
"I'm trying."
"I know."
"No, don't do that."
"What?"
"Look like I just handed you the sun."
"You kind of did."
She looked away, but not before I saw the colour rise in her cheeks.
Eleanora thumped the rabbit against the mattress.
Emily immediately looked down.
"Yes, sorry. Centre of attention restored."
Our daughter made a pleased little sound.
I smiled.
For a moment, the room was almost normal.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Everything changed.
Emily's body stiffened.
Mine did too.
I pulled it out slowly.
Mum.
I turned the screen towards Emily before answering, because apparently that was who we were now. People who showed each other the incoming call like proof.
Emily's face shifted.
Fear.
Guilt.
Something softer.
"Answer," she said.
"You sure?"
"No."
I waited.
She swallowed.
"But answer."
I pressed accept.
"Mum."
"Oh thank God." Her voice hit the room before I could even put the phone properly to my ear. "Hero, are you all right? Your father said not to panic, which obviously meant I have done nothing but panic. Why didn't you call? Where are you? Is Eleanora safe? Is Emily-"
"Mum," I said gently.
She stopped.
I put the phone on speaker because hiding half a conversation felt wrong.
Emily's eyes widened.
I looked at her in question.
She went rigid.
Then gave the tiniest nod.
Brave.
Terrified.
"Mum, you're on speaker."
A pause.
A loaded one.
Then, quieter, "Hello, Emily."
Emily's hand tightened on the cot rail.
"Hi."
One word.
Small.
Careful.
My mother breathed out shakily.
"Is the baby all right?"
Emily looked down at Eleanora, who was now attempting to murder the rabbit's other ear.
"Yes," Emily said. "She's awake. She's in the cot."
Another pause.
"The nursery cot?"
Emily's eyes flew to mine.
I nodded.
Her throat moved.
"Yes."
Mum made a sound.
Not quite a sob.
Not quite relief.
"Oh."
Emily looked like she might bolt.
I sat up straighter despite the pain.
"Mum."
"No, I'm all right," Mum said quickly, in the voice she used when she absolutely was not. "That's good. That's... that's very good."
Emily stared at Eleanora.
"I cleaned it," she said suddenly.
My mother went silent.
Emily kept going, like if she stopped, she wouldn't start again.
"The police took the photographs and the phone. The box from the garage too. We cleaned the cot after. Hero changed the sheet. She watched the mobile." Her voice cracked. "She liked it."
There was a long silence.
Then Mum said softly, "Of course she did."
Emily pressed her lips together.
My throat tightened.
Mum's voice trembled.
"Hero told me once you bought one with clouds."
Emily looked at me sharply.
I held up both hands.
"Mimi told me," I mouthed.
Emily rolled her eyes, but there were tears in them.
"It plays You Are My Sunshine," Emily said.
"I remember Brandon singing that terribly," Mum replied.
The room stilled.
Brandon's name moved through the phone and into the nursery like a hand resting gently on all of us.
Emily's face crumpled.
She covered it quickly.
Mum heard the silence.
"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, forgetting all the anger for one second.
Sweetheart.
Emily's breath caught.
So did mine.
My mother seemed to realise what she had said, because she went quiet again.
Then Eleanora made a sudden loud babbling sound, smacking the rabbit against the cot rail.
The tension broke.
Mum let out a wet laugh.
"Was that my girl?"
Emily looked down.
"She's attacking the rabbit."
"Good. It deserves it. That rabbit has been smug since Christmas."
Despite herself, Emily laughed.
A real little laugh.
My mother heard it.
I knew she did.
Something in the call softened.
Then Mum's voice shifted again, more practical. Safer ground.
"Hero, your father spoke to the officer outside. They said Hayden was taken into custody."
"Yes."
"And the press?"
"Still at the gates?"
"Some. Less than before. Lockdown scared off the casual vultures, at least."
Emily's mouth twitched at that.
Mum continued, "Your father wants to come over."
"No," I said immediately.
Emily looked at me.
I shook my head.
"Police said no unnecessary movement. Lockdown, Mum."
"I know, darling, but-"
"No. Stay home."
My mother huffed.
"He sounds awful," she said, clearly to Emily.
"He looks worse," Emily replied before she could stop herself.
Mum paused.
Then said, "Good. Make him rest."
Emily glanced at me.
"I'm trying."
"He's impossible."
"I know."
"Stubborn."
"Very."
"Convinced pain is a personality trait."
"Exactly."
I looked between the phone and Emily.
"I am right here."
"Yes," Mum said. "And apparently still alive, so we can discuss your flaws."
Emily's mouth curved.
It did something unbearable to me.
Then my mother grew quieter.
"Emily."
Emily's smile disappeared.
"Yes?"
"Are you safe?"
Not, are you okay?
Not, have you lost your mind?
Not, how could you?
Safe.
Emily's eyes filled.
"I don't know."
The honesty sat there.
My mother inhaled softly.
"Is Hero with you?"
Emily looked at me.
"Yes."
"And Eleanora?"
Emily looked down at the cot.
"Yes."
"Then just do the next ten minutes," Mum said. "That's all. Not the rest of your life. Not court. Not the papers. Not Ava or Jo or that awful man. Just the next ten minutes."
Emily closed her eyes.
I had heard Mum say versions of that to me after Eleanora was born. At three in the morning with a screaming newborn, when I thought grief and exhaustion might actually split my skull open.
Just the next ten minutes.
Then another.
Then another.
Emily nodded, though Mum couldn't see.
"Okay," she whispered.
Mum's voice softened. "And Emily?"
"Yes?"
"I'm angry at a lot of things."
Emily's entire body went still.
"But not at you holding that baby this morning."
A tear slipped down Emily's cheek.
She wiped it furiously.
"I don't deserve-"
"I didn't ask what you deserve," Mum cut in gently. "I said what I'm not angry about."
Emily covered her mouth.
I looked away because the intimacy of that felt too private even for me.
Eleanora babbled again.
Mum sniffed.
"Put me near her."
Emily froze.
I looked at her.
She looked panicked.
It was one thing to hold Eleanora in a quiet room with only me watching.
Another to show my mother.
Another to be seen mothering by the woman who had filled the space she left.
I reached for the phone.
Emily stopped me.
Not with words.
She simply held out her hand.
I placed the phone in it.
Slowly, carefully, Emily crouched beside the cot and angled the camera towards Eleanora.
"Hi, darling girl," Mum's voice came through, breaking instantly. "There you are."
Eleanora blinked at the phone.
Then at Emily.
Then back at the phone.
She slapped the rabbit against the mattress.
Mum laughed.
"Oh, that's very impressive."
Emily watched them.
Her expression was impossible.
Grief.
Fear.
Wonder.
Longing.
Eleanora reached for the phone.
Emily pulled it back slightly.
"No eating Nana."
Mum made a sound that was definitely a sob disguised as a laugh.
Nana.
Emily had said it without thinking.
My eyes burned.
Mum went quiet for a second.
Then whispered, "Thank you."
Emily's face flushed.
"She'll chew the phone."
"I don't care."
"I do. It's Hero's. He'll be dramatic."
"I heard that," I said.
"Good," both Mum and Emily said at the same time.
For one second, the room breathed.
Then the front buzzer sounded.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Violent in the quiet flat.
All of us froze.
Eleanora startled.
Her face crumpled.
Emily stood instantly, phone clutched in one hand, the other reaching into the cot.
I was already on my feet, pain forgotten.
"Hero?" Mum's voice snapped through the speaker.
The buzzer went again.
Longer this time.
Not the polite buzz of a delivery.
A press-and-hold.
Demanding.
Emily lifted Eleanora from the cot before I could tell her not to. The baby began to cry, tired and frightened again, little fists pushing against Emily's chest.
The intercom screen in the hallway lit up.
I moved towards it.
Emily followed, holding Eleanora tight.
"No," I said.
"I'm not hiding in the nursery again."
I stopped.
The words cut.
I looked at her.
She looked back, pale but set.
Fine.
Together, we moved to the hallway.
The tiny intercom camera showed the private gate downstairs.
A woman stood there in a hooded coat, rain darkening her shoulders despite the pale morning.
For one second, I didn't recognise her.
Then she lifted her face.
Jo.
Emily went ice cold beside me.
My mother's voice came through the phone, sharp with fear.
"Hero, who is it?"
Jo looked straight into the camera.
Her eyes were red.
Her mouth trembled.
She pressed the buzzer again.
I didn't answer.
Her voice crackled through the intercom anyway, distorted and desperate.
"Hero, please. I know you're there. I need to speak to Emily."
Emily's grip tightened around Eleanora.
Our daughter cried against her neck.
Jo looked up at the camera like she could see us.
Like she could see the baby she had helped turn into a headline.
"Please," Jo said, voice breaking. "Ava's coming."