Page 54 of A Prescription to My Heart

The house feels cramped now. It’s as if the air has thickened with the weight of their presence. Camille and Patrick are settled into the guest room, a space I’ve always kept minimal. Now, it’s filled with their things—suitcases, shoes, bags. The house feels like it's been invaded.

I try to keep my mind focused on Marigold as she plays with Camille. She’s perched on the floor, her small hands working out a wooden puzzle, her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration. I can see Camille’s smile, but there’s something cold in her eyes that doesn’t match the warmth she’s trying to project. Patrick, on the other hand, leans against the wall with his arms crossed, silently watching us all, his disapproving gaze never wavering.

Talia’s in the kitchen, putting together dinner. I hear the clink of dishes, the soft tone of her voice when she hums to herself, though I’m sure it’s more to block out the silence than anything else. I’ve been trying to distract myself, ignore the gnawing irritation inside me. But it's hard with them here, breathing down my neck—watching every move I make.

After a few minutes, I stand up and walk toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorway, observing Talia work. Her back is to me, her movements fluid as she chops vegetables. Her light hum escapes her lips. The scent of garlic and onions fills the air, and suddenly I realize I’m... relaxing. This—Talia in the kitchen, the gentle notes of her mindless humming—is something I’ve missed. Even before she moved in. It’s both a startling, and oddly comforting realization.

I glance over my shoulder, catching Camille’s eye. She’s still talking to Marigold, but her gaze darts between me and Talia. Her eyes narrow.

“You’re quiet, Soren,” Patrick says, breaking the silence. His voice is low, condescending, and I know exactly what he means.

“Just thinking,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

“Thinking, hmm?” Patrick gives me a knowing look, one that makes my skin crawl. “I want to discuss Marigold’s accident. I understand that it couldn’t have been helped, but this is exactly what Camille and I have been—”

I don’t even flinch. “Patrick, we’re fine.”

He hums thoughtfully, his eyes darting then to Talia, then back to me. “I’m sure you are. But one of these days, Soren, you’ll have to realize your daughter needs stability.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to have this discussion with you while Marigold is here, Patrick,” I warn, my voice almost a growl. “You’ve made your opinion clear. I’m not compromising on mine.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. He takes a step back, looking over at the dinner table. “We’ll see how dinner goes,” he mutters under his breath.

I ignore him, but it stings. I don’t need his judgment. Not after everything I’ve done for Marigold. Everything I’ve sacrificed.

I don’t understand how they conveniently ignore that.

Eventually, dinner is ready. The smell of roasted chicken and garlic butter fills the house, mingling with the scent of the prepared vegetables. Talia sets the table, the soft clink of porcelain a reminder that she’s here, doing all the things I’ve never been good at.

Camille and Patrick take their seats at the table, their chairs scraping loudly against the floor. Marigold is already perched at her spot, waiting expectantly. I slide into my seat across from Talia, my hand brushing hers for a fraction of a second before I pull away.

“So, Talia,” Camille begins, her voice syrupy sweet, “tell us how you and Soren met. It’s been so interesting, hearing bits and pieces of it, but we’d love to hear it all.”

I feel my jaw tighten, and I force myself to relax. Here comes the interrogation. Patrick watches me carefully, his eyes sharp. Talia glances at me briefly, unsure, and I can see the hesitation in her..

Before she can say anything, I lean in, draping my arm around her shoulders in a casual motion, my fingers grazing the soft fabric of her blouse. I feel Talia stiffen slightly at first, but then she relaxes into it, just enough for the moment to feel real—convincing.

I duck my head. “Play along, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice low enough for only her to hear.

A heat spreads through my chest, unexpected, and the words feel heavier than I intend.This is an act,I remind myself. It’s all for them. But somehow, it feels… real. Talia’s warmth against my side, her scent, the way she shifts just slightly beneath my touch. It all feels like something more.

Talia clears her throat, her fingers curling around the edge of her glass. “Oh, it’s not really much of a story,” she says, trying to deflect, but her voice is tight, controlled. I know she’s trying to make it sound casual, but the nerves are there, right under the surface.

Patrick leans forward, his eyes calculating slits. “Come on now, there must be something memorable about it. How did you two… end up together?”

Marigold is swinging her legs under the table, and when she cocks her head at us with big, curious eyes, I feel a pang of guilt. I have to remember why we’re doing this.

The tension crackles in the air. Camille’s smile widens, but without mirth. They’re baiting Talia. Testing her. I can see the gears in Camille’s head turning as she searches for any weakness. Without warning, I feel the old instincts kick in. The need to control the narrative.

The need to protect.

“Actually,” I say, my voice little louder than I intended, “we met a few years ago. Talia was assisting me and a few other surgeons on a paper. There wasn’t any big moment, really. We reconnected again when I found out she was interested in becoming a scrub nurse. By then, it was instant. Just a few late nights, some coffee, and a lot of conversations.” I smile, leaning in a bit closer to Talia, deliberately casual. “You know how these things go.”

Talia’s lips twitch, and she glances at me, her eyes a little wide. I don’t think she expected me to answer that way.

“Right,” she murmurs, then glances back at my parents. “I guess it wasn’t as dramatic as some people make it sound. It wasn’t some…Grey’s Anatomyfling.”

Marigold quietly giggles, and I see how Talia reacts to her—the slightest ebbing of stress at the sound. She truly does care for my daughter, doesn’t she?

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