Poppy Whitaker never trusted her husband. In the shifting fog of her mind she had learned to rely only on herself; that was how their marriage had settled, like a house built on sand that never quite found solid ground.
James Turner was as striking as a field of poppies in full bloom, and he carried the easy charm of the life of the party. He drank modestly, never smoked, and showed no appetite for football, fishing, or hunting. In other words, a proper ladfit for a palace.
Because of those pleasant traits, Poppy suspected that James sought consolation beyond the walls of their home. Men of his sort were not found walking around with a torch in hand. And the huntresses would inevitably appear, lurking in the shadows of the city.
The one thing that steadied Poppys nerves was Jamess adoration of their son, Charlie. The father devoted every spare moment to the boy, and Poppy thought that such fierce paternal love might be enough to hold the family together.
At school Poppy was teased as Redhead because of her flaming hair and the freckles that dotted her cheeks like a constellation. Her mother, a striking woman from Manchester, had always whispered a harsh truth: Poppy, youre my ugly duckling. Sorry for the comparison, but its the bitter truth. No one will ask you to marry unless you learn to stand on your own. Study hard, build a career, and if a decent chap ever turns up, be a dutiful wife. Those words lodged in Poppys heart forever.
After graduating with a gold medal, Poppy enrolled at university in London, where she first met James. She could not fathom why a handsome, ambitious young man would be drawn to her quiet, unadorned self. James later confessed that she was the only girl he had ever felt brave enough to approach. Poppy wore no makeup, dressed simply, and never flirted. When she realised the seriousness of Jamess attentions, she seized the moment, offering to marry him herself.
James was initially taken aback by such an unreserved proposal, but Poppy pledged to be gentle, patient, and faithful. Love will grow with time, she whispered. After some hesitation, James agreed, swayed by his mother Margarets reluctant blessing. When James first brought Poppy to his mothers home, Margaret eyed the newcomer with a cold, dismissive stare, thinking, What a freckled mess. My son is radiant as a sunriseany woman would chase him. Id prefer a proper granddaughter, not a redhaired oddity. The first meeting was far from pleasant.
Poppy sensed the disapproval and, deep down, understood that a handsome husband could become a stumbling block to happiness. She would not let the chance slip. She visited Margaret alone, offering tea and a smile. Im beginning to like her, Margaret muttered, surprised by the unexpected charm. Poppy promised to be a loyal and obedient wife to her son, a promise that outweighed any superficial flaw.
Margaret, a single woman after her husband abandoned her for another love many years ago, had spent a decade wrestling with the question of whether to forgive the betrayal. Raising a son alone had been a hardship, and she finally decided to support her childs choice, knowing Poppy would wait for James on any road, even the most bumpy. She blessed the union.
A year later their son Charlie was born, a perfect miniature of his father, which delighted Margaret. James fluttered around Charlie like a mad moth, and the boy became his whole world. Yet his affection for his wife never truly blossomed. Poppy, too, never felt a fiery passion for James. Their life settled into a quiet routine: she washed and ironed his shirts, prepared meals, kissed him goodnight; he handed over his paycheck, gave her flowers on birthdays, and kissed her cheeks each morning before heading to work. It felt more like a ceremony than a romance.
Both knew that true love existed somewhere elsein books, in friends colourful stories. After five years, James finally discovered that feeling, but not within his own household. He fell for a breathtakingly beautiful woman named Celeste, whose allure seemed otherworldly. Celeste returned his affection, and they spent secret afternoons together in cafés, on park benches, and at friends flat. The clandestine meetings wore James thin; he grew increasingly evasive with his wife. Charlie saw a father who was often irritated rather than smiling. Celeste demanded, Either marry me or we stay friends. I wont settle for an old maid.
James was torn. He did not want to lose Celeste, yet his son meant everything to him. He could not even think of Poppy in that moment. When he finally packed his belongings and left, Charlie was only five.
Poppy recalled her mothers harsh lessons. As a child those words had felt like a knife, but now they settled like a warm blanket. She realised she could survive Jamess departure without a dramatic plunge or endless tears; the vaccination her mother gave her against lifes hardships worked.
The whole saga felt like a piece of her heart been plucked out, a fragment that sank to the deepest well of her soul, waiting for its fate. Happiness, she thought, was a free bird that perched wherever it pleased.
On the night he left, Poppy whispered to James, Doors will always be open for you, but dont linger too long. Charlie loves you. Dont make him suffer.
For six months James drifted between his son and Celeste, while Poppy kept his toothbrush in a separate cup in the bathroom, watching it stare back at her like a mute accusation each time James came to wash his hands. Once, in a fit of frustration, he slipped the brush into his pocket, thinking to discard it. The next time he returned, a brandnew brush sat in the cup, as if the house itself mocked him.
On the kitchen counter, his favourite mug of steaming coffee waited; in the hallway, his slippers lingered for his return. These tiny domestic echoes scratched at Jamess conscience. He rushed to play with Charlie and flee the house, never fully understanding why he had abandoned his family. A mysterious, irresistible force pulled him toward Celeste, tearing his soul apart.
He kept asking himself how to avoid hurting those he loved, but answers eluded him. Perhaps he could have barred James from the doorstep, cursed the interloper, and kept the family intact. Yet Poppy remained silent, and each time James departed, she would calmly say, Come back, James. Dont forget us.
When James returned to Celeste, she complained, All this fuss about Charlie irritates me. If I ever leave you, it will be because you love your son more than me. Thus the cycle went on for years.
Friends urged Poppy, Lord, why havent you married someone else by now? Your son needs a father every day, not just on holidays. Youre still youngforget James! Poppy listened, sighed, and kept quiet. Eventually the friends stopped urging; everyone accepted that she was alone.
Time marched on. James stopped visiting Charlie. The father and son met only on neutral ground as Charlie finished school. After twelve long years, Poppy finally accepted that James would not return. She still had the strength to raise another child. She booked a ticket to a sunny resort on the Mediterranean, where a brief, carefree romance blossomednothing serious, just a fleeting warmhearted connection.
Nine months later, Charlies sister, Molly, entered the world. Poppys friends gathered at the hospital, surprised by her decisive step. When the exhausted but happy mother emerged, she cradled a pinkribboned bundle and said, Hello, ladies! Please dote on my little Molly!
One friend sniped, And what will you call her after her father?
Poppy replied, Shell grow into her own name.
No sarcasm could dim Poppys joy. Her life now revolved around Molly. Charlie became an indispensable helper, adoring his sister. Poppy refused to field any probing questions about Mollys paternal lineage; she was simply content.
When Molly started nursery at three, the other children taught her that families could have both mums and dads. She began to call Charlie dad, a both funny and bitter habit.
One evening, a hesitant knock sounded at Poppys flat. Molly raced to the door, shouting, Its my dad! Poppy looked through the peephole and sawJames. She opened the door wide.
May I come in, Poppy? the unexpected visitor asked, shifting from foot to foot.
Come in if youve come, Poppy replied, masking surprise.
James set two overstuffed bags aside and removed his backpack. Molly threw herself at the stranger, exclaiming, Mum, thats my dad, right?
Poppy, tears welling, answered, Yes, Molly, thats your father.
James lifted the child, kissed her freckled nose, ruffled her golden curls, and whispered, Hello, my little ginger! He then turned to Poppy, pressing a kiss to her hand.
Thank you, Poppy. Will you forgive me? he pleaded, trying to kneel.
Poppy gently grasped his elbow, keeping him from collapsing. Hello, my bitter honey. You disappeared for seventeen years, but theres no room for resentment. We need a father now, she said, sighing with relief.
Charlie watched with wide eyes, smiling faintly at the scene.
Weeks later, Poppy called a curious friend and said, You wanted to know my daughters middle name? Shes Molly Viktoria. Remember thatno alternatives!
