They lock eyes then, neither saying anything or giving an inch. Hannah tugs at her father’s elbow. He immediately breaks eye contact with Ainsley and turns his attention to her. She becomes his sole focus, the sign of an incredible father. Always at his child’s disposal, no matter what he faces.
“Can we go now?” his daughter whispers. He nods, takes her hand, and leaves.
Ainsley turns to me with a strained smile.
“Ex-husband. Army. Came home yesterday. It’s… been a mess.” Her false smile wobbles. “Just… complicated.”
A scrawny-looking red-headed man sidles over, wraps his arms around her waist, and licks at her neck like he’s lapping milk. My skin crawls. The vulgar affection is a power play by a man who looks as if he could be broken by a twig. Nothing more than a demonized stickman, taking what he wants.
“You finished your shift?”
Ainsley gives me an apologetic look, then disappears with him through the back.
I grab my drink and head to the nearest booth. Distance is required after whatever that was. It certainly wasn’t my idea of romance.
People come and go, picking up and leaving conversations as they do. After finishing my drink, I leave a tip on the counter and escape into the fresh air. Vile Romeo and Juliet are nowhere to be seen.
Scanning the street, I spot the army guy and his daughter in the park. He’s pushing her on the swing, chatting. She’s laughing through tears.
Bittersweet, I think to myself.
Another broken family.
And for a reason I can’t explain… I can’t look away.
Chapter four
Lance
A month.
Thirty long days.
That’s how long it’s been since my life detonated. Since I walked out of the house I’d poured over a decade into. Since I carried my daughter’s bags into a stranger’s rental and told her everything would be okay. Even though I had no idea if that was true.
Some days, I still don’t. Some days, I want to crawl into bed and not get up. But it’s not an option. Hannah needs me. Dog needs somewhere to exist.
And I deserve better.
We’ve survived. Barely, but we have. And somehow, this small terraced house feels more like home than the one I left behind. Safer anyway.
The first week was hell, filled with estate agents, paperwork, and panic mattress buying. Dog tried to convince me we coulduse our ‘army survival skills’ instead. I said it wasn’t suitable for a twelve-year-old to live in Scotland without heating, and we weren’t setting a campfire in the living room.
But we got here.
The house is clean, warm, and most importantly, ours. Three bedrooms, one bathroom with a shower that hisses when we try to use it, and a kitchen dated 1994. The internet works, the garden has grass, and there’s a lock on the front door.
It’s fine. More than fine. It’s solace after the pain, steady ground after the landslide.
Hannah has space. Dog has a home. And I have them… they’re all I need.
Although, our trip to IKEA in week one is an ordeal I never want to repeat.
Hannah’s room is finished now. Black. With glow in the dark stars.
“Black?” I spluttered when she requested it. “Like the night sky?”
She nodded enthusiastically. I expected her to want pink, sparkles, and unicorns.