Our Little Family

Elara’s POV

Damien stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

Just as he was about to answer, his phone rang.

The relief that flooded his face was unmistakable. He glanced at the screen, and I saw his entire posture change.

"I have to take this," he said, already turning away from me. "It's urgent."

"Damien, we're talking—"

"Hello?" His voice immediately softened as he answered. "What's wrong?"

I didn't need to see the caller ID to know who it was. The way his voice changed, the way his shoulders relaxed - it could only be Isabella.

"Slow down," he said gently. "I can barely understand you. What happened?"

He walked toward the window, his back to me. "Of course I'll come. Don't worry about anything. I'll be right there."

He hung up and grabbed his jacket from the chair.

"I have to go," he said without looking at me. "Emergency."

"Today is our anniversary."

"we have next anniversary." He paused at the bedroom door. "I'll take you and Lily to the amusement park first thing in the morning. We'll make a whole day of it."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my unanswered question hanging in the air.

I sat on the edge of our bed, still wearing the diamond necklace. Through our bedroom window, I watched his car disappear down the driveway.

Damien, I thought, we won't have another anniversary.

This was our last one. Our final charade.

I remembered our other anniversary celebrations.

Even when he was traveling for business, even when he was on the other side of the world, Damien had always made it back for our anniversary.

But tonight, he'd rushed to Isabella's side.

The next morning, I drove to the hospital early to pick up Lily for our planned day out. She was so excited she could barely sit still as I helped her get dressed.

"Are we really going to see Mickey Mouse today, Mommy?"

"That's the plan, sweetheart."

"And Daddy's coming too?"

"Yes, Daddy will be there."

If he keeps his promise this time.

When we arrived home, Damien was already in the kitchen, looking perfectly put together in casual clothes - dark jeans and a navy sweater that made his gray eyes even more striking. He was freshly showered, his hair still damp.

I pretended not to notice the purple mark on his neck, just below his collar. Fresh. Recent.

"Sweet !" he said when he saw Lily.

Lily giggled with delight. "Daddy! Are we really going to Disneyland?"

"We absolutely are. Are you ready for the best day ever?"

"Yes! I will meet all your request today."

I watched them together, and for a moment, it looked perfect. Like the family we could have been.

During breakfast, he was unusually attentive to Lily. He cut up her pancakes, helped her with her orange juice, even tied her shoelaces when she struggled with them.

"Daddy, you're being extra nice today," Lily observed with five-year-old directness.

"I'm always nice to my favorite girl," he said, kissing the top of her head.

The scene should have warmed my heart. Instead, it felt bitterly ironic.

I knew why he struggled to connect with Lily.

Six years ago, I'd saved his grandmother from a car accident. Mrs. Blackwood was a formidable woman who'd built an empire alongside her late husband. She was grateful enough to decide I would make a suitable wife for her grandson.

Damien had someone else in mind.

Isabella Reed had been the love of his life since college. Everyone expected them to get engaged. But Mrs. Blackwood didn't approve of Isabella's family - new money, she called them dismissively. Not old enough, not established enough for a Blackwood.

When Mrs. Blackwood announced that Damien would marry me or lose his inheritance, he'd tried to fight her. But the family business meant everything to him.

On our wedding night, he'd been brutally honest.

"I want you to know this isn't real," he'd said. "I'm doing this for my grandmother, for the company. In three years, when things settle down, we'll get a quiet divorce. I'll make sure you're well taken care of financially."

I'd nodded, heartbroken but trying to be understanding.

But someone—a rival, a disgruntled relative, I never found out who—had slipped something into his champagne at the reception. By the time we reached our honeymoon suite, he was delirious with fever, barely conscious.

I should have called a doctor. Should have gotten him help.

But when I saw him in such distress, I didn't push him away.

Nine months later, Lily was born.

Isabella, who'd been waiting for Damien to find a way out of his forced marriage, couldn't handle the reality of his child with another woman. She'd moved to London and married someone else within the year.

In his mind, Damien blamed me for all of it. For the drug, though I swore I knew nothing. For my silence that night, which he saw as betrayal. For the pregnancy that shackled him to a life he never wanted. For driving Isabella away.

Most of all, he blamed me for the fact that looking at Lily reminded him of what he'd lost.

I'd heard him tell James once: "Every time I see her, I think about Isabella crying when she found out. About how I promised to find a way for us to be together, and instead I got my wife pregnant."

He thought loving Lily meant betraying Isabella's memory. So he kept his distance, providing financially but never emotionally connecting with the daughter who adored him.

Now, watching him make an effort at breakfast, I wondered if Isabella's return had changed something. Maybe he was trying to be a better father because he was planning to be a better man for her.

"Are you ready to go?" Damien asked, checking his watch.

Lily bounced in her chair. "Yes! Let's go right now!"

But as we were gathering our things, Damien's phone rang.

He glanced at it and his expression shifted. "I need to take this quickly. Can you give me just a few minutes?"

"Daddy, we're supposed to leave now," Lily said, her excitement dimming slightly.

"I know, sweetheart. Daddy just has to handle one quick thing, then we'll go have the best day ever. I promise."

He stepped out onto the terrace, phone pressed to his ear.

Through the glass doors, I could see him pacing, gesturing with his free hand. His voice was animated, engaged in a way it never was when he talked to me.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Lily sat at the kitchen table in her special Mickey Mouse dress, watching the terrace door hopefully.

"When is Daddy coming back?" she asked for the tenth time.

"Soon, baby. He's just finishing up some work."

But I could see him out there, still deep in conversation. Still handling his "quick" call.

Another hour passed. Lily's excitement began to crumble into disappointment.

"Mommy, is Daddy still coming with us?"

"Of course he is, sweetheart. He promised."

"But he's been on the phone for a really long time."

"I know. Sometimes grown-up work takes longer than expected."

By noon, Lily was in tears.

"He doesn't want to come with us," she sobbed. "Daddy doesn't like me."

"That's not true, baby. Daddy loves you very much."

"Then why does he always have to work instead of playing with me?"

The question broke my heart because I couldn't answer it honestly.

"Is it because I'm sick?" she whispered. "Is that why Daddy doesn't want to spend time with me?"

"No, Lily. That has nothing to do with it."

But her crying was making her fever spike again. Her cheeks flushed red, and her breathing became labored.

"Mommy, I don't feel good," she whimpered.

I felt her forehead. She was burning up.

"We need to get you to the hospital," I said, scooping her into my arms.

I didn't even bother telling Damien we were leaving. He was still on his phone call, solving someone else's problems while his daughter fell apart.

At the hospital, Dr. Harrison examined Lily with concern.

"Her fever is dangerously high again," he said quietly. "The emotional stress isn't helping her condition. Children with her diagnosis need stability and emotional support."

I nodded, fighting back tears of rage and guilt.

"I'm going to give her something to bring the fever down. She needs rest and calm."

As Lily slept fitfully in the hospital bed, I sat beside her and pulled out my phone to call Damien. To tell him his daughter was back in the hospital because of his broken promise.

But a notification popped up on my screen first. Instagram. Isabella Reed had posted something new.

I shouldn't have looked. I knew it would only hurt me more. But I couldn't stop myself.

The photo loaded, and my world shattered completely.

It showed Damien and Isabella sitting together on an elegant couch. Between them was a small white dog with a bandaged paw. Isabella was nestled against Damien's side, both of them gazing down at the pet with adoring expressions.

The caption twisted the knife in my heart: "Our little baby got sick and my hero rushed right over. Thank goodness the vet says it's just a minor sprain! We're so lucky to have you.#OurLittleFamily."

Our baby. Our little family.

I stared at the screen, my hands trembling.

While his actual daughter lay in a hospital bed crying for him, Damien had spent the day playing house with Isabella and her dog.

The truth hit me like a physical blow.

In Damien's eyes, my daughter - our daughter - wasn't even worth as much as Isabella's pet.