I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”
“So, she’s… active?”
I hesitate, unsure how to reply. One, because I truly don’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from Stacey in over a year, but I’m also selective about what I say because of the judgment that usually comes with this.
“She’s not a bad person,” I say quietly. “She loves Elle. She just—” I stop, then try again. “She’s not well. When she’s using, she’s not thinking about consequences. She’s only thinking about the next fix.”
There’s no judgment in Penny’s face, just concern. “And Elle?”
“It’s been over a year,” I say. “Elle was only three when Stacey disappeared properly. I don’t think she remembers enough to miss her the way people expect.”
She pushes off the counter and steps closer, resting a hand against my chest, easing my thundering pulse.
“If she’s here,” she says calmly, “we deal with it.”
We.
The word settles somewhere deep.
“She doesn’t get to ruin what we have here, okay?” My hands rise from my side to bracket her hips, and her eyes lift at that, searching mine.
“No,” she says softly. “She doesn’t. This… we’re too solid.”
There’s a flicker there, something close to the edge of a confession. It sits warm and fragile between us for a second, and all I want to do is fan the flame. Tell her how much I fucking love her right this instant, promise her that no one will come between us, or get to Elle, or take one slice of this happy life we’ve been building.
But I don’t want those words coming out because I’m scared. I don’t want to hand them to her like a lock on the door.
I swallow. “Pen—”
“Daddy! How do you spell ‘courage’?”
The moment breaks, and the evening passes the way it always does. Dinner stretches longer than usual, and I sit at the table and listen to Penny tell Elle about a book she picked up from the library. Elle argues about whether penguins can have birthday parties. Gus swipes a spoon off the table and looks offended when it clatters.
And I find myself watching Penny more than I mean to. The way she leans down to wipe a smudge off Elle’s cheek, and the way she laughs without holding it back. The way she looks at our daughter like she’s something precious.
After dishes, and while Penny manages bath time, I check the locks. Front door, back door. Sliding door. I glance out the front window when headlights sweep past. Penny notices, but she doesn’t comment.
Later, after bath time, Elle pads back out in her pajamas, her hair damp and eyes sleepy.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, bug.”
She twists her fingers together. “Will you be able to come watch my dance recital next month?”
The question lodges in my throat, and I clear it gently.
“I don’t know,” I tell her carefully. “If I’m not working, we’ll figure it out.”
She nods, seemingly satisfied enough because she’s used to the unknown when it comes to my job, and she knows if I can’t make it, others will. Herb and Leah. Remi. Mrs Potts.
“Okay.” She leans in and hugs me tight. “I bet Penny can make it.”
My throat tightens again.
“Me too.”
When the house finally settles, and Elle’s asleep, Penny curls into me in bed like she always does, but she doesn’t fall asleep straight away. I feel it in the way her breathing doesn’t quite settle, in the way her fingers trace idle patterns against my skin like her mind’s still turning over something she hasn’t said yet.
