Chapter 1Returned After a Year

I was five when my mother returned upon hearing my father was remarrying. She cornered me outside my preschool, yanking me away before calling my father.

“Adrian, if you marry her, you’ll never see Poppy again!” she threatened. For my proud mother, Elara, this was her olive branch.

But my father’s reply was ice: “It’s over. Bring her back. Now.”

Tears streamed down her face as she screamed, refusing to let me go. To make him regret it, she took me to another city, certain he’d beg us to return.

He didn’t. Instead, he called the police. Unwilling to lose, my mother threatened to take her own life if they took me—her final trump card. Still, he married, and soon his wife was pregnant.

A year later, when the baby was born, the last of my mother’s hope broke. That night, she packed my suitcase, drove me to his house, and left me on the doorstep in the dark.

“Poppy,” she said, hollow, “Mommy needs a new life. Go back to your father.”

* * *

“Mommy, please don’t leave me…”

I clutched my little backpack, my hand trembling as I reached out to tug on the hem of her dress. I was terrified she would just vanish.

She frowned, yanking her dress free from my grasp. “Poppy, I’m doing this for your own good. I’m moving somewhere else to focus on my career. You can’t have a stable life with me right now.”

I twisted my fingers together, my voice barely a whisper. “But… I haven’t seen Daddy in a whole year. I’m scared he won’t want me anymore.”

Over the past year, after every screaming match she’d had with him on the phone, she would collapse in tears and tell me, “Oh, Poppy, your mother is so useless. Not only did I fail to win your father back, but I made him hate you, too.”

I’d heard it so many times that a cold fear had taken root in my heart: Daddy didn’t want me. I couldn’t let my mother go. I couldn't become one of those kids the grown-ups whispered about, the unwanted ones.

Her patience, always thin, finally snapped. “He’s your father! Of course he’ll want you. Stop filling your head with such nonsense.”

Panic seized me, and the words tumbled out. “But you said it! You’re the one who told me Daddy didn’t want me! You said he has another baby now and that he’d never look back at us…”

Daddy had a new wife, a new baby. If I showed up now… he wouldn’t be happy to see me.

“That’s enough!” Her voice cracked like a whip, her face a mask of irritation. “I told you to stay, so you stay. Not another word!”

I flinched and clamped my mouth shut, watching her with wide, fearful eyes.

She didn't look at me again. She glanced at the expensive watch on her wrist, her tone turning cold and distant. “I have to go. You can knock on the door yourself in a little while.”

With that, she turned and walked away. A gust of cold wind whipped her expensive black dress around her legs.

“Mommy!” I cried out, a knot of pure fear in my throat.

She didn’t turn back. She got in her car and drove away, leaving me utterly alone on the dark, silent street.

I stared at the receding taillights until they disappeared, hot tears of betrayal and confusion finally spilling down my cheeks.

Didn’t she even consider what would happen to me if Dad really didn’t want me? Where was I supposed to go?

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, the cold seeping into my bones until my whole body trembled. I tried to summon the courage to knock, walking up to the heavy oak door several times, but my hand would freeze just inches from the wood.

It was so late. They were probably all asleep. If I knocked now, I’d wake them up—Dad, his new wife, and their newborn baby.

After a long time, I gave up and curled up on the cold stone steps of the porch. I would just wait. I’d knock when the sun came up.

I fought to keep my eyes open, but exhaustion won. My head drooped, and I drifted into a restless sleep.

In a hazy dream, I heard a kind, musical voice.

“Whose little girl are you?”

The voice was close. I blinked my eyes open, my blurry vision focusing on the woman kneeling in front of me. She wore a long, pale blue dress, and her face was gentle and beautiful.

I recognized her instantly.

Miss Claire. The woman my father had married. The woman my mother called the homewrecker who had destroyed our family.

I had seen pictures of her this past year. My mother had hired someone to take them secretly. I remembered watching, hidden in a corner, as my mother screamed curses at the glossy photos before ripping them to shreds, her face twisted with a rage that terrified me.

When she found me crying in the corner, she’d dragged me out. Pointing a shaking finger at a torn picture of Claire, she’d spat, “See her, Poppy? Look closely. This is the bitch who stole your father from us! If it weren’t for her, we’d be a family again! You need to remember this face. She is our enemy for life.”

I had just sobbed and sobbed until I finally nodded, and only then did she let me go.

Now, looking at that same face, a jolt of fear shot through me. I instinctively shrank back, my hands clutching the straps of my backpack.

“Hello, Ma’am,” I mumbled. “I-I’m here to see my daddy.”

Claire froze, her eyes widening as she truly looked at me. “You’re… Poppy?”