Through My Eyes

Epilogue

6 Years Later

I walk through the door into the main room, pushing a strand of hair back. I brush imaginary dust off my cleaner's apron, still clutching a used rag doll in my hand. I look around the empty room, frowning when I don't see my angel.

Then I hear a familiar thumping as though someone is jumping down the stairs and I break out in a smile. The hallway door flies open and a bundle of dark hair spins into my arms, it's legs wrapping themselves around me. I pick my daughter up, holding her close to me, running my hand through her dark hair.

She pulls back and asks in a sweet voice, "Mummy, did Lady Arlington send something for me?"

Lady Arlington is the woman whose house I clean. Gazing into my daughter's azure blue eyes, that remind me so much of him, I nod and put her down, kneeling in front of her and producing the rag doll.

My beautiful angel gapes with delight, squealing and snatching the rag doll, pressing it adoringly to her chest. I watch her, marvelling at how much she resembles her father. Her father, who never returned. Who never sent even one letter. Who doesn't even know he has fathered a child. Who will miss his daughter's sixth birthday tomorrow.

I look down at my ring finger, where not one ring adorns the finger, but two. Mine and his. Together forever, after all.

Emmanuel Colleton kept true to his word, those five years back. I never heard from him again. However, I have heard about him. He married six months after my husband went away and three months later, his second wife was bearing their first child. I could not have cared less, for my own belly had swelled with the angel jumping round the room before me. Today, Emmanuel has four children, a railway empire (which I find increasingly ironic, considering the fact a railway was where he ruined my life) and a humongous estate in London.

Mary walks through the door, ripping me from my pensive thoughts. Her long hair is greying and there are fine wrinkles dusting her skin. But she is still my Mary, my second mother. Mary shoots me a smile and then takes in the sight of my daughter jumping on the chaise, her long dark hair flying around her.

"What is that in your hand, honey?" Mary asks, mock-wonder resonating in her voice.

"It's a rag doll, Mamma Mary!" My angel lisps. I chuckle. 'Mamma Mary' is her way of saying 'Grandma Mary' but it is too much of a mouthful for her, which is why she abbreviated it.

"Ella," I call. "Do you know why Lady Arlington gave you the rag doll?"

As I say her name, a pang of heartache thrums through me as I remember how I decided my baby's name.

"No." I say to him, "Don't you start saying goodbye. You're not going anywhere, you're not leaving me. You're going to stay and you're going to marry me and we're going to have lots of babies and we're going to call the girl Esther and the boy Emerson..."

"Woah!" Damon steps back, "I didn't say anything... about the name Esther. Urgh! What kind of a name is that?"

"Damon!" I chide him, "Esther is a beautiful name. Why would you say something like that? That's horrible!"

"No, the name Esther is horrible! My daughter will not be called Esther. No matter what happens, I will not allow you to do that!" Damon says, his eyes wide, "The poor child will be tormented all her life."

"Fine, Esther's cancelled. Well, what about Mary-Anne?"

"Sounds like an old woman." Damon shakes his head in disgust.

"Okay. Ella?"

A slow smile creeps along Damon's face, "Ella. I like it."

As I return to the present, Ella is just finishing her sentence. "... So I'm going to be a big girl and we going to see Mamma Adeline!"