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“Miss Heather, did you forget my name?” my daughter giggled.
The question broke my heart, and I watched Heather’s eyes flicker toward me. I shook my head, trying to communicate so many things to her in that one little head nod. A veil of sadness blanketed her stare before she turned back to my daughter. Then, I watched her reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind Audrey’s ear.
“Sorry,” Heather said. “My brain must still be sleeping. I could never forget anything about you Rebecca.”
My heart clenched at the conversation as I plated everyone’s food. Breakfast was pretty silent. Heather tried to steal glances at me from time to time, but we were in no position to address what had happened. And I wasn’t in a position to talk about it. The fact that my daughter didn’t even know her birth name made me disgusted with myself and with my actions in the past. It was because of me that she lived this completely fake life on the assumption that it was true.
It tore me to shreds, and I didn’t want to think about it.
“Can we go hiking today?” Audrey asked.
“Wait, are there hiking trails around here?” Heather asked.
I nodded. “There are. Rebecca and I have carved out a lot of paths.”
“Could we walk some of them?” Heather asked.
“Yeah, Daddy. Can we?”
“Well, when two beautiful women are asking me for the same thing, how can I refuse?”
I tossed a wink at Heather and watched a beautiful blush creep up into her cheeks.
Heather refused to let me clean the dishes, so I left her to it while Rebecca and I got ready. Heather quickly dressed in an outfit that would keep her safe walking through the woods, and then the three of us started off. Audrey ran up ahead of us, rushing down her favorite trail. She loved it because it was all downhill and led to a beautiful waterfall off the side of the mountain that she loved throwing rocks into.
I was excited to show Heather the beauty of the wilderness around us. It helped take my mind off the threats my body was still on alert for.
“She doesn’t know her real name, does she?” Heather asked the question I’d already guessed was on her mind most of the morning.
I drew in a deep breath of fresh air as Audrey bounded ahead of us. “She was young when all of this took place. Barely two.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. It’s my fault she’s in this situation.”
“How so?”
“Had I kept myself under control instead of beating that man within an inch of his life, no one would be trying to—”
“Miss Heather! Look!”
I watched Heather’s lips part in shock as the sound of the waterfall hit our ears. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
“Like you.”
Her eyes whipped toward me as Audrey ran up to take her hand. My daughter dragged her to the waterfall, talking her ear off in the process. I’d never seen my daughter so animated around someone before and so willing to open up and talk. Some of the things that came out of her mouth sometimes stunned even me. For a four-year-old, she was incredibly perceptive. For a child her preschool thought was unnecessarily quiet, she held her own in a conversation even though they could get ridiculous at times.
The two of them started throwing rocks, and I watched Heather teach Audrey how to skip a rock across the water. She crouched down, patient with her as she guided her hand. She taught her how to hold the rock and how to snap her wrist to get a decent spin on it. I learned a lot about Heather simply by watching her interact with my daughter in the woods. I learned how much she loved the outdoors. I learned she knew a great deal about the plants and foliage around us. I listened as she told stories to my daughter and learned that some of her favorite childhood memories were of reading in trees and swimming in creeks.
My heart surged with every interaction between the two of them.
Every time I tried to fight my feelings for Heather, they came back full-force. Watching her with my daughter only enhanced what I was trying so hard to fight off. Heather was amazing, patient and kind, with knowledge she looked eager to pass down to Audrey. They sat with their feet in the running river and continued to talk, oblivious to where I perched while I watched them.
They were off in their own little world, and I was standing there, leaning against a tree to make sure nothing would encroach on their safety.
It felt natural. Normal. Familial.
“You guys ready for lunch?” I asked.
