My Daughter Called Him "Sir"

After five years deployed overseas, Silas came home to Long Island with a woman and a little girl.

He said they were the widow and orphan of a fallen brother-in-arms, and it was his duty to take care of them.

The little girl was draped over his broad shoulder, calling him "Daddy" in a soft, sleepy voice.

And my own daughter hid behind my legs, peeking shyly up at this stranger, and said: "Sir."

After five years apart, Silas tried to take my hand. I shook him off.

He stood there, stunned.

He probably thought I was still jealous. Still sulking.

But the truth was simpler than that. I just didn't want him touching me anymore.

•   *   *

Cold air rushed in through the open door. I stood frozen, like someone had punched me in the face.

No jealousy. No screaming. No hysterics.

But when he reached for my hand, my stomach suddenly turned over—pure, physical revulsion.

I stepped back on instinct and jerked my hand away.

He stood there with his hand still hanging in the air, a flash of shock in his eyes.

Five years ago, Silas and I had been at each other's throats over Cecilia.

The worst time, I called her a homewrecking bitch.

We were shoving each other when she fell. A pool of blood spread underneath her.

I was terrified.

The door burst open. Silas strode in, a murderous look in his eyes.

He shoved me aside, scooped Cecilia off the floor, and turned to roar at me: "Have you lost your fucking mind, Vera?!"

He carried that bleeding woman to the hospital.

Only after the door slammed shut in front of me did I feel the violent, twisting pain low in my belly.

I looked down. Blood had already soaked through my pants.

Silas didn't come home that night. He put in for a long-term overseas posting and left New York for good.

That was when I found out I was pregnant.

For a long time after that, I sent him countless texts and called him more times than I could count.

Every single one vanished into silence.

Eventually, I gave up completely.

I'd assumed he'd died somewhere over there. And now here he was, on my doorstep, with another woman and her child.

Five years later, we stood on either side of the threshold. Neither of us spoke.

"Is she my daughter?" Silas was staring at Ivy. His voice was a little hoarse.

"Her name is Ivy," I said calmly. "She has my last name. Hayes."

Silas's jaw tightened. He obviously wanted to ask something.

But the woman next to him chose that moment to speak, her voice perfectly, precisely apologetic. "Vera, this is my daughter, Lily. We owe so much to Silas for taking care of us."

The little girl named Lily clung to Silas's neck and buried her face in his coat. "Daddy, I'm hungry."

The picture was perfect. Perfect like a family portrait fresh from the print shop.

"I've set them up in the empty house next door so I can keep an eye on them." Silas finally pulled his eyes off me, tossed out the words, and turned to pick up the two big suitcases on the ground.

"I'll take them over first. I'll be right back."

Half an hour later, he came back alone.

Ivy was already asleep.

I took a bottle of water out of the fridge and set it on the coffee table. "Water's all we've got."

"Vera, this is my house too." He looked at me in a tone that left no room for argument.

"Suit yourself." I shrugged.

After all, the house was in both our names.

We sat across from each other on the couches.

The air was so heavy it was hard to breathe.

"When are you leaving?" I broke the silence.

"When did you have her?" he asked instead.

"Five years ago, before you left." I looked him straight in the eye. "The day you carried Cecilia to the hospital, I was bleeding too. Nobody took me."

Silas's jaw clenched hard. The veins on the backs of his hands stood out.

That clearly hit him. But he didn't apologize. He just went on in that same flat, final voice. "I'm not leaving this time. Nate's dead. I have to take care of Cecilia and Lily. It's a promise I made to a dead man."

"Whatever you want." I didn't want to fight. I turned and pointed down the hall on the first floor. "The guest room's made up. You can sleep there."

I'd just started to walk away when he suddenly grabbed my wrist. His grip was shockingly strong.

He stepped in close, his big frame blocking out all the light, and lowered his voice. "And you? You plan on staying separated from me forever?"

I yanked my hand away like I'd been bitten by a snake and took two steps back. "I sleep with my daughter. It's late. Good night."

I walked quickly back to the bedroom and locked the door without a second's hesitation.