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I reach St. James Park.
Enter.
Carry on walking, now numb to my surroundings, until I reach Duck Island. I asked for this. For this pain.Morepain. More reminders. I take the few steps needed to get me to a bench and collapse onto it, feeling so fucking weak. So vulnerable. I close my eyes, terrified about what they might see and the further bedlam it may cause me. And I just sit there, praying the answer to all of my problems finds my sorrowful state here on the bench in a park in central London. Praying for mercy.
“Daddy!”
I snap my eyes open on a crashing beat of my heart. I see nothing—none of the people roaming, the kids playing, the runners running. I see only one thing. My treasured, dearest thing.
“Quack, quack, Daddy.”
I get up and go to her, kneeling to help her open the bag of seeds, but her little impatient hands tear it open, scattering the bird seed far and wide.
“Oopsie daisy.”
“Oopsie daisy,” I mimic quietly on a smile, as a gaggle of ducks waddle up from the water, ambushing us.
“Quack, quack.”
They peck, flap their wings, and squabble around our feet as Rosie giggles, flapping her arms, waddling around with them.
“Quack, quack.”
“Come here.” I scoop her up, out of the chaos crowding our legs, and swing her onto my shoulders. I peek up. She’s still flapping, quacking, laughing.
And it’s precious. So fucking precious.
“That your phone, mate?”
I look back and find a runner stretching, his foot wedged into a bin, lunging into it. Disorientated, I glance around seeing the low railings that’s between us, putting a barrier between the path and the lake, stopping people getting too close to the water. I’m standing on the edge of the lake, and I have no fucking clue how I got here. My heart kicks. I look up, feeling around my shoulders.
Gone.
My breath hitches, still feeling the weight of her there. “Shit.” I roughly wipe at my eyes, reversing my steps, and swing my leg over the railings, putting myself on the right side. I go to the bench and drop to the wood. I never dreamed I could feel the same level of adoration again. The peace. The purpose. Could I really have one last chance at happiness? And yet, it’s hanging in the balance, the threats to it relentless.
I feel around in my pocket and pull out my phone, along with the pouch Kate gave me.
Whatever it takes.
I wince and check the time. An hour has passed. And then I answer his call. “Jesse Ward,” I say coolly. Quietly.
“So when was the last time you fucked my wife?”
I don’t answer that question.Can’tanswer that question. He knows, but I’ll be damned if I’m confirming. “Stay away from her, Mikael.”
“Or else?”
I have noor else, and he knows it. “And keep your wife away from me too.”
“Ex-wife. She’s returned to Denmark to see her mother. Licking her wounds, I expect.”
“She meant nothing to me, Mikael,” I say, needing him to know that. If that makes me sound like a heartless bastard, I’ll take it. If it makes me sound desperate, I’ll take it.
“Which time?”
I breathe in, locking down my muscles, forcing calm. “Stay away from Ava. Stay away from me.” I hang up, clenching my phone tightly. The space around me is busy now, my eyes allowing me to see real life. And feel it. But I want to stay with my baby girl, listening to her uninhibited giggles. But then I wouldn’t have Ava. How can love cause such mutinous conflict?
I consider the velvet pouch in my hand, clench my fist around it, stand, and walk back to my car.
