Page 49 of A Prescription to My Heart

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He steps closer. Just enough that I can see the frustration building under his skin. “I know it’s unfair. I know I’m asking too much. But Talia… they’re not going to stop trying to take her away.”

That makes me hesitate. He sees it. Latches onto it.

“They don’t know you. They think I can’t handle it. They think I’m too broken, or too distracted, or too—”

“Alone?” I say quietly.

He nods.

I lower my gaze, fingers curling into my palms. “Marigold deserves better than lies and games.”

“She deserves stability,” he says. “She’s already been through enough.”

“And you think this… this arrangement is stability?”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

I don’t speak for a moment. My throat feels tight. My heart confused. A part of me wants to walk away. Draw the line and keep it drawn. But another part—the part that watches the way he watches his daughter, the part that heard her say “Please stay”—that part aches.

“She’s not the only one who’s been through stuff, you know,” I whisper.

His jaw tenses. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” I laugh bitterly. “You think I’m just this nurse who showed up at the right time and decided to play fairy godmother. You don’t know a thing about the kind of relationships I’ve had. About how hard I worked to build a life I didn’t need to explain to anyone.”

“I’m not trying to take that from you.”

“But you are. With every favor. Every fake story. Every ask.”

He looks at me then. Really looks at me. “I’m sorry.”

It’s simple. Honest. And it pisses me off because it’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

I sit again, rubbing my forehead. “And what happens after they leave, Soren?”

“We end it. No more pretending.”

“And if they don’t believe it? If they keep coming?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Nope.

“I need space,” I say.

“You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You have a couch?”

He snorts. “Kind of.”

“Aren’t we supposed to sleep in the same room since they would be watching us?”

He sighs. “I’ll take care of it.”

I roll my eyes. “I want clear rules.”

“Name them.”

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