Page 35 of A Prescription to My Heart

The realization lands hard, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m pushing away from the wall, stepping back. I might not be able to stop his in-laws from coming for him. But I sure can stand in their way.

I don’t remember walking to Soren’s office. My mind is still stuck in that hallway, replaying the words over and over.

Full custody.

I swallow hard and push open the door without knocking. Soren’s sitting behind his desk, elbows braced on the surface, fingers laced together as he stares blankly at his computer screen. The room is dimly lit, the only glow coming from the screen’s bluish tint and the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. It smells of coffee, faintly burnt, and the lingering scent of his cologne—something clean and dark, like cedar and musk.

He doesn’t hear me at first. His shoulders rigid, his jaw tight. The exhaustion rolls off him in waves. I clear my throat.

Soren’s head snaps up.

"Marigold’s fine," I say, my voice softer than I expected.

The tension bleeds from his body instantly. He exhales, long and slow, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Thank goodness"

His relief is so palpable it makes my chest ache. When he looks back at me, there’s something raw in his expression.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "For helping. For staying with her."

I wave it off, but the way he’s looking at me makes me shift on my feet. The weight he carries—whatever it is—is pressing down on him so hard I can almost feel it myself.

"Soren…" I hesitate. "Are you okay?"

A humorless laugh escapes him. "That depends."

But before I can answer, the door swings open.

We both look up in surprise to see his in-laws stepping inside.

Camille is first—tall and poised. Her husband, Patrick, follows closely behind, his expression unreadable but his stance stiff.

Soren straightens immediately, all softness gone. His spine locks up, his face smoothing into an impassive, unreadable expression.

“What are you doing here?”

“The nanny called. Concerned, seeing as it took her several tries to reachyou.So, like to take Marigold with us," Camille says.

The air in the room drops several degrees.

Soren’s eyes darken. "Why?"

"You know why," Patrick says, his voice level. "The recent… events have shown us that you might not be the most suitable person to care for her."

Soren’s hands curl into fists on the desk. His voice is like ice when he speaks. "I take care of her just fine."

Camille sighs, her tone laced with condescension. "Now, Soren, you don’t need to get your hackles up. We know you mean well, but a little girl needs a mother—"

"We get by just fine," he snaps.

The words leave his mouth at the same moment mine do.

"She has me."

The room goes deathly silent.

Three pairs of eyes swing toward me.

My pulse pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears.

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