Chapter Nine - The Weight of What Still Lingers
1225 Words
Breakfast ended the way it began, quietly, but with everything unsaid sitting heavy between them.
The scrape of cutlery against plates sounded too loud in the small kitchen. Michelle ate slowly, more out of politeness than appetite, though the food was undeniably good. Jeremiah cooked the way he did everything else, with care, restraint, and an attention to detail that made it impossible not to notice.
Across from her, Daisy swung her legs beneath the table, humming along to the radio, blissfully unaware of the emotional tightrope strung between the two adults sharing her morning.
Michelle finished first.
She set her fork down carefully, then inhaled, bracing herself. “I’ll wash the dishes,” she said, already reaching for her plate.
Jeremiah looked up instantly. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she replied, firm but calm. “It’s the least I can do.”
For a moment, it seemed like he might argue. His jaw tightened, eyes lingering on her face, as if searching for something beneath the offer, pride, avoidance, obligation.
Then he nodded once. “Alright.”
She stood, collecting plates with deliberate movements, aware of him watching her even when she refused to look back.
“I can help!” Daisy chirped, hopping off her stool.
Michelle smiled despite herself. “Only if you promise not to soak yourself.”
“I promise,” Daisy said solemnly, already grabbing a dish towel.
Jeremiah exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll grab some firewood,” he said. “Storm’s not letting up.”
He reached for his jacket, boots, gloves, preparing to step back into the cold. Before he left, his gaze flicked briefly to Michelle, who was already looking at him. Something unreadable passed between them.
Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
Michelle turned on the tap, warm water rushing into the sink, then she rolled up her sleeves and began to wash.
Daisy stood beside her on a small stool, carefully rinsing plates with far more water than necessary.
“You’re really pretty,” Daisy said suddenly.
Michelle startled. “Oh, thank you.”
“Just like the woman in my daddy's story.”
The plate in Michelle’s hands slipped slightly, clinking against the sink.
“How do you know that?” she asked lightly.
Daisy nodded enthusiastically. “My daddy always says his one true love was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.”
The words hit Michelle like a quiet blow.
Her chest tightened, breath catching just enough to hurt.
“One true love?” she echoed.
“Mhm!” Daisy scrubbed a fork with dramatic seriousness. “He tells me a story about her sometimes. Before bed.”
Michelle swallowed. “What kind of story?”
Daisy beamed. “The best kind.”
Michelle’s fingers trembled, but she kept her voice steady. “Tell me.”
Daisy leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Okay, but don’t tell Daddy I told you. He says it’s a special story.”
“I won’t,” Michelle promised, her heart already pounding.
Daisy nodded, satisfied, and began.
“He said he met her when he was young...when they were both in school. And he didn’t even know he was falling in love at first. He said she laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny, and that she always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself.”
Michelle squeezed her eyes shut briefly.
That was her.
Daisy continued, oblivious. “He said she used to sit with him while he studied and make him take breaks because he forgot to eat. And that she smelled like vanilla.”
Michelle’s throat burned.
She turned her face slightly away, pretending to rinse a plate just to hide the sudden sting in her eyes.
“He said she made him want to be better,” Daisy went on softly. “Like… he wanted to be someone she could be proud of.”
The water blurred.
Michelle blinked hard.
“Daddy said he messed it up,” Daisy added, quieter now. “He didn’t explain how. Just that he made a really bad mistake. And that's why she didn't end up being my mother.”
A tear slipped free.
Michelle turned away quickly, reaching for a towel so Daisy wouldn’t see.
“And Daddy says,” Daisy finished gently, “that even though they don’t talk anymore, he still thinks about her, and wishes she is happy wherever she is.”
Michelle pressed the towel to her mouth, her shoulders trembling just slightly.
She thought she was over him.
She thought she had buried that part of her life.
But now finding out Jeremiah had been telling their story to his daughter like a bedtime prayer, made her realize what she felt for him was still very much alive.
“Michelle?” Daisy looked up at her, concerned. “Are you okay?”
Michelle inhaled shakily, then turned back with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just… got some soap in my eye.”
“Oh.” Daisy frowned sympathetically. “That hurts.”
“It does,” Michelle whispered.
The back door creaked open.
Cold air rushed in.
Jeremiah stomped snow from his boots, arms full of firewood. He stopped short when he saw them, Michelle gripping the counter, Daisy watching her with open concern.
“Everything okay?” he asked carefully.
Michelle straightened immediately, turning away to stack the last plate.
“Yes,” she said too quickly. “Just finishing up.”
Daisy hopped down from her stool. “Daddy! I told Michelle your one true love story!”
The room froze.
Jeremiah’s face drained of color.
“What?” he said sharply.
Daisy tilted her head, confused by his tone. “The one you tell me at night. About the girl who smelled like vanilla.”
Michelle didn’t turn around.
She couldn’t.
The silence that followed was devastating.
Jeremiah set the logs down slowly, his gaze locked on Michelle’s rigid back.
“Daisy,” he said gently but firmly, “go add the logs to the fire, okay?”
She nodded, sensing something she didn’t understand, and scampered off.
The moment she was gone, Jeremiah spoke.
“Michelle...,” he said quietly.
Michelle finally turned.
Her eyes were glassy, shining with unshed tears she refused to let fall.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you tell her about us?”
His chest rose with a slow, heavy breath.
“Because,” he said, voice thick, “you were the truest thing that ever happened to me.”
Her heart shattered.
“And because,” he continued, stepping closer, “I wanted her to grow up knowing what real love looks like, and understand the reason I wasn't with her mother.”
Michelle shook her head, tears finally slipping free. “You don't get to turn me into a fairytale, Jeremiah. Not after what you did.”
“I know what happened,” he said. “But it doesn’t change the truth.”
The fire crackled softly behind them.
Snow fell relentlessly outside.
"And what's the truth?" Michelle finally asked.
Jeremiah didn't look away. "The truth is, you're the only woman I have ever loved."
- Writer
