Her mother stood at the window, silhouetted against the morning light, one hand pressed dramatically to her chest as if she'd been caught mid-soliloquy.
"Marigold." Daisy's voice trembled. "How could you?"
*Here we go.*
In the past, those words would have sent her into a spiral of guilt and anxiety. She would have immediately started apologizing, trying to smooth things over, doing whatever it took to make hermother's distress go away. The pattern was so ingrained it was practically muscle memory.
But this morning, something had shifted.
Maybe it was the way Thallos had looked at her—really looked at her—as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Maybe it was the sound of her own voice echoing in her ears as she'd dressed down Rachel on the sidewalk. Maybe it was simply the accumulated weight of twenty-six years finally reaching its tipping point.
Whatever the cause, she felt… calm. Centered. Like her feet were planted firmly on solid ground for the first time in her life.
"Good morning, Mom," she said, closing the door behind her. "I see you helped yourself to my wine."
Daisy blinked, clearly thrown by the neutral tone. "Your wine? I needed something to calm my nerves after last night. The way that—that male spoke to me?—"
"His name is Thallos." She crossed to the kitchen and began washing the abandoned glasses. The hot water felt good on her hands. Grounding. "And he spoke to you that way because you were embarrassing me on purpose."
"Embarrassing you? I was telling harmless stories! Family anecdotes! That's what mothers do when they meet their daughter's—" She waved a hand vaguely. "Whatever he is."
"Boyfriend." The word came out easier than expected. "He's my boyfriend. And those stories weren't harmless, Mom. You know exactly what you were doing."
Daisy pressed her hand to her chest again. "I cannot believe you're taking his side over your own mother's."
"I'm not taking sides." She set the clean glasses on the drying rack and turned to face her. "I'm setting a boundary. There's a difference."
Something flickered across Daisy's face—surprise, maybe, or calculation. She was trying to figure out this new version of her daughter, trying to determine which approach would work best. Marigold had seen that look a thousand times before. Usually it preceded either tears or a sudden change in tactics.
Today, it preceded tears.
"I can't believe you're being so cold to me." Daisy's voice cracked. A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. "I came all this way to see you. I've barely slept. I've been so worried about you, all alone in this little town with that—that?—"
"With the male who defended me when you were humiliating me in public?"
"He stormed out like a child having a tantrum!"
"He left because watching someone I love be cruel to me made him angry." The words came out steady, even though her heart was pounding. "And honestly, Mom? It was the first time in my life someone's gotten angry on my behalf instead of at me."
Daisy's mouth opened. The tears stopped, replaced by genuine shock.
Good, she thought. Keep her off balance.
It was a strange thing, applying strategic thinking to her own mother. But years of cleaning up Daisy's messes had taught her exactly how this woman operated. Every emotion was calculated for effect. Every crisis was manufactured to achieve a goal. Andif you looked closely enough, you could usually figure out what that goal was.
"Why did you really come to Harmony Glen, Mom?"
"To see you, darling! To make sure you're happy and settled?—"
"The truth."
Daisy's face went through several expressions before settling on injured innocence. "I don't know what you mean."
"You never visit without a reason." She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "Usually you need something. Money, a place to stay between husbands, someone to clean up your latest disaster. So what is it this time?"
"That's a horrible thing to say."
"Is it untrue?"
