I stand in the doorway of Ella's nursery, peering into the small room, watching as Ella springs into Damon's arms.

My heart swells at the exchange. Seeing her hold so much affection for Damon in her little heart, seeing him accept her so wholeheartedly, makes a tear spring to my eyes. This is the family I have always wanted. After Damon left, all I have ever yearned for is to see the sight before my eyes today. They are the perfect match, the perfect example of how a father should be with his daughter.

What I would give to make this my reality and not just a temporary dream. What I would give to be able to walk into that room and hold both my daughter and her father without any fear of any repercussion. Yet, any time he comes close, any time Damon ventures close enough to shattering the little self-control I have, the memories of Emmanuel threatening his life plunge me into an all-consuming fear and I push him away.

If this was an ideal world, I would be able to tell Damon the truth. However, it is not and the danger of Emmanuel returning is one that will forever loom over my head.

Even if I am never able to call Damon my own again, I will be happy just with the thought that my daughter has experienced the love of her father, even if she does not know his real identity. I shall comfort myself with that.

"Mummy!" Ella's lilting voice pulls me from my reverie.

My little darling pulls herself up from her coveted spot in Damon's lap and scrambles over to me, taking my hand in hers and pulling me into the room.

"Play with us." She demands.

I cast a doubtful look at Damon.

He simply gives me a dazzling smile. "Yes, Eloise, join us. You may take some of the pressure from Ella, she is playing two roles."

Glancing between the father and daughter, I hesitate.

"Please, Mummy!" Ella whines, batting her lashes at me.

Oh, heavens, she knows that look never fails.

"Okay, Ella. Tell me what to do." I sigh, resigned to my fate. From my peripheral vision, I see Damon's grin widen and he sends a wink in Ella's direction.

Ella attempts to do the same, but she has not quite mastered the art of winking as of yet and instead, blinks as hard as she can, eliciting a chuckle from myself and Damon.

I do not notice when the sun lowers itself back to the horizon, I do not see the lazy splashes of orange and pink rays that litter the room as evening approaches. I am simply engrossed in Ella, engrossed in weaving tales of princesses with her, I am fascinated at how quickly Damon adapts to her stories and matches her wavelengths of imagination. Thoughts of Emmanuel and his ever-looming threats are the last thing on my mind as I watch the last of the sun's light bathe Damon in its glow, lacing through his dark hair and twinkling in his eyes, glistening off his lips as he smears his tongue across them.

I am so absorbed in the little world that we have created that I do not even hear Mary until she is standing above me, calling my name and placing her hand on my shoulder.

I jump, a hand flying to my chest.

Mary tuts in exasperation. "The three of you must get your hearing examined. I have been calling and calling to no avail. I am not as able as I once was, those stairs are difficult for me to climb."

Chagrin flushes through me and I stand, "Mary, I do apologise. Are your knees okay?"

Mary nods. "Yes, they are fine. What is not fine is my rather empty stomach. May we all go downstairs and eat our supper?"

"Yes!" Ella chants from behind and dashes between us to thunder down the stairs.

Chuckling, Mary shakes her head. "Come along, you two. The food will be getting cold."

Damon rises to his feet and then holds out a strong, calloused hand. Hesitantly, I clasp my own fingers into his and he pulls me up, his eyes dark with something I cannot quite put my finger on.

His hold on my hand has not loosened.

"Damon." I say gently, attempting to pull my hand from his grasp.

He does not respond. His eyes tell me his mind is somewhere far, he is somewhere deep within the crevices of his own thoughts and I cannot reach him there. His hold on my hand tightens ever so slightly.

What are you thinking right now, Damon? I would give so much for just a glimpse of his thoughts.

I reach out with my free hand and rest it on his arm. Instantly, his gaze clicks and his eyes meet mine. He looks down at our hands and quickly pulls his back, leaving my hand feeling cold and numb in his absence.

Wordlessly, we both make our way downstairs. Ella is already at the table. Dinner is strange – Eloise babbles about matters that are of importance only to little girls, Damon indulges her with wide eyed, wondrous responses and I watch the two of them, my mind flitting between how perfect of a father Damon could be, to how much I have failed him and our love when I made him leave all those years ago.

Fate has played a most cruel game, toying with my emotions and squeezing my heart in it's cold fingers. For Damon is here, with me, but he is not mine and he can never be. He is within arms' length but forever out of reach.

After dinner, Damon aids Mary in checking on the syllabub – it will most likely be ready tomorrow. He is then whisked away by Eloise back upstairs to resume their game of dolls, leaving Mary and I to stand in the kitchen, gazing after them.

Mary sighs. "I am so proud of him."

"Yes, Mary. He has achieved things we could not have imagined he would."

"Yet, he is not satisfied. He is missing something."

My eyes meet Mary's. I know exactly what she is insinuating. She knows I do. Fighting the urge to snap at her in my own defence, I simply say, "I know. The something he is missing is something that I cannot give him any longer. He must search elsewhere."

"And his daughter?"

"My daughter, Mary." There is an iciness in my voice. "I have raised that child, with your assistance. Damon showing his face for a fortnight or two does not mean he has any rights to my daughter."

"The fact remains that just as you are her mother, Damon is her father." Mary is unaffected by my brash tone, hers soft as a sandy beach whereas mine is not dissimilar to roaring waves crashing down on the shore.

I know she is right. Mary is always right.

"There is one issue. He is not here forever. Even if he wanted to be here forever, he cannot stay."

"Find a way." Mary quips. "You did it before. Do it again. Less than a decade ago, you fought for each other. Now, you must fight just as valiantly, but for Ella. I should hope she is motivation enough."

With that, Mary drifts out of the kitchen. I watch her go, sinking into a seat at the table. It is so clear cut for her, so black and white. Can she not see? I am caught in a tumultuous hurricane of indecision. My head is constantly barraged with the thought of taking my little family and running, but it is not so easy. The lives at risk are not only my own and Damon's. I have Ella to think of. I cannot let any harm come to her. If I must live without Damon to keep her safe, then so be it. I cannot let Emmanuel come near my daughter. I will die if I must, but she must remain untouched by the poison of this world.

I sit at the table, my mind plagued by thoughts of years past, before my marriage to Emmanuel, before Damon and I discovered we loved each other. Life was so simple. He was my refuge. He was the lighthouse that would guide my ship, he would warn me of all the obstacles in my way and teach me how to steer clear of them. He was my best friend, first and foremost. Before I loved him as a man, I loved him as my friend. He will always be that, if nothing more.

With my mind occupied in distant memories, I fail to recognise the time and just how late it is becoming. It is close to midnight when I emerge into the hallway to look at the clock. Damon must have left a while ago.

Slowly, I make my way up the stairs. I forgot my lamp and the hallway is dark. There is a strip of light coming from underneath the nursery door. I wonder – is Mary still here?

Approaching the door, I slowly turn the knob and peer in. Instantly, I am taken aback. Ella and Damon are sitting in the corner, Ella slouched in his lap, her eyes are drooping, and she has one arm looped around his waist. Damon's chin rests atop her head and he too appears drowsy. He looks up as I enter the room.

So as not to disturb Ella's slumber, I tiptoe my way past the debris of dolls and teacups and kneel in front of Damon.

"What time is it?" He whispers.

"Close to midnight. I apologise, Damon, I had been caught up in other things. I had assumed you would have left by now."

"No. Ella wished for me to stay. How could I possibly refuse her?" Damon's mouth tilts into a wry smile and I do the same. Ella knows that she is most compelling when she needs to be – I have yet to meet someone who can resist her charms.

"Let me take her from you. I shall put her to bed, you may take your leave. I apologise for keeping you so long."

"No need to apologise. I thoroughly enjoy my time with Ella."

Nodding, I send Damon a fleeting smile and then hold out my arms for him to return Ella to me. Just as she is in my grasp, Ella squirms in her sleep and then her little hand shoots out, grappling Damon's collar, her eyes shuttering open.

"Where are you going, Mister Damon?"

"Ella." I interject. "It is very late, darling. Mister Damon must go home and rest."

"No." She pouts. "Mister Damon, stay tonight. I do not want you to go home."

She squirms closer to Damon and away from me, burrowing her face into his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. White-hot rejection blazes through my chest and I retract my arms to my side. Ella is my daughter. Mine, and yet, she wants Damon more than she wants me.

"Ella. That is enough. Mister Damon must go home. I will not hear another word."

Standing, I attempt to take her from Damon but she shakes me off, whining.

"No, no, no, no! Mister Damon will stay! Please stay, Mister Damon, please."

Damon looks down at her pleading face and then at me, conflicted. "Allow me to just put her to bed. Once she sleeps, then..."

Reluctantly, I nod. "Okay. Just this once. I do not want her to make this a habit."

Damon looks down at Ella, who is already falling back asleep. He stands awkwardly, burdened by her weight and I lead the way to her bedroom.

Once there, he gently lowers Ella into the bed and leans forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead. The tenderness of the gesture makes my heart ache, both with happiness and with something akin to jealousy. Ella has never been close enough with anyone except Mary or I to let them put her to bed. With Damon, she has become so trusting of him in such little time. It is absurd. Maybe she senses on some level that he is more than just a stranger.

With Ella resting in her bed, Damon stands and turns to me, bowing his head.

"I shall take my leave now."

He begins walking to the door. I do not watch him. He should go. He should not stay. However, it is late. I do not know if the way to the square will be lit – I have never been out this late. Are people out this late? What if there are thugs and unsavoury characters roaming the streets? Damon is a perfect target – he is not from this town and one can see from his apparel that he is wealthy. What if something happened to him? What would I do? What would my daughter do?

I spin on my heels and dash from the room, sprinting into the hallway to see Damon halfway down the stairs.

"Damon!" I call. "Wait!"

He turns and walks back up the stairs, his step steady, one hand firmly on the banister.

"Did Ella wake?"

"What? No, no. What I wanted to say is... what I mean is... it's late."

"That it is." Damon looks down at me, a bemused expression shadowing his face.

"Yes. I suppose... it would be okay if you stayed. I do not know what dangers lurk out there and if something were to happen to you, I could not bear it. You should stay." I babble, unable to meet his eye.

"Would you be comfortable with that?"

No. Every second with you is uncomfortable – an uncomfortable reminder of what I once had, and what I will never have again, but I cannot say that out loud.

"It's safe here." I say instead. "Safer than what is out there."

"Okay." Damon shrugs. "Thank you. I shall stay."

Nodding stiffly, I turn on my heel to lead him to the guest room. It is the one next to my own. The room is adequately sized, a large bed dominating the far wall. Apart from two dressers, the rest of the room is sparsely furnished. Over the years, this house has not seen many visitors, apart from my mother and on the rare occasion, my half-brother Peter.

I walk over and light up the wall sconces, two on each wall of the room.

"These are fancy." Damon says as light begins to illuminate the dark room. He strides over to one of the sconces, hands deep in his pockets, examining them.

"Mother sent them for me. They were a gift – some maddeningly rich landowner from Liverpool who was trying to buy Mother's home was lavishing her with gifts in attempt to sweeten her mood."

"Liverpool." Damon hums. "That must mean he was new money. The city has been bustling recently. People are becoming rich left, right and centre."

"Are you not new money, too?" I question.

Damon's eyes flick to me, standing at the other side of the room. He scoffs. "I am the newest money there must be. From a little boy in the slums to an entrepreneur with a region-wide business. Soon to be nation-wide."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you." Damon saunters over to the bed, closer to me, slumping down onto it. "Being new money is not a thing to be ashamed of. Everyone was new money once. At some point, I will be old money. My descendants will be."

"Ella has become rather close to you."

"Yes, she has. She is such a compelling child, beautiful and innocent and intelligent. She asks many questions."

"She has always had a curious nature."

"She could grow to do amazing things if you would loosen your hold on her."

I tense. "What are you insinuating?"

"Well, Eloise, I have been here for a few weeks now. I see Ella's spirit, her playfulness, her inquisitiveness. Yet, I also see your reservations. You allow her to explore her surroundings, to satisfy her curiosity, to feed her intelligence and then something snaps, and you pull her back. You stop her from going any further."

Bristling at his criticism, I stand taller. "Like you said, you have been here for little more than a few weeks. I have been raising my daughter for years. I know what is best for her."

"She needs some freedom, Eloise."

"Who are you to say what she needs? You do not even know her."

Damon's eyes glitter dangerously and he stands to face me. "I am her father."

I grit my teeth, squaring up to him, refusing to show him that I am intimidated. "And I, her mother. I will not tolerate anyone slandering the way in which I raise my child. I birthed her alone, I fed her alone, I raised her alone. My daughter is healthy and happy. I provided for her every need."

"Everything she needs is not necessarily everything she wants."

"She does not need everything she wants!" I snarl. "Parenting is not about giving your child everything they want. This world will not give my daughter everything she wants. I will not set her up for failure."

"Why are you so jaded?"

"If only you saw the world through my eyes, Damon. Everything would be clear."

"Eloise. You had everything. You had me. I left to let you be happy, so what occurred?"

A lump catches in my throat. Hot tears burn the insides of my eyes, but I set my jaw, attempting to hold them back as best as I can. I cannot let him see the effects of his words. I must shield myself against him. He cannot see, he must not see.

"It is none of your concern."

"Yes, it is. You were my wife. The little girl sleeping in the other room? She is my daughter. This is my concern, it is very much my concern." Damon is gripping my arms, his eyes boring into mine, attempting to see the reality that lurks behind them.

Planting my hands on his chest, I push him back. "Leave me alone. I am granting you shelter in my home – appreciate that. Do not dig up the past. I am granting you a relationship with your daughter – appreciate that too. Do not take advantage of me."

Steeling myself, I attempt to brush past him and leave. As I pass him, Damon grips my wrist. I turn, nostrils flaring and yank my wrist back.

"Don't." With that, I storm out of the room, closing the door behind me.

My chest heaving, I slip through the entrance of my own bedroom, my breath leaving my body in ragged gasps. I lower myself into bed, still fully dressed. Lying on my back, I stare up at the dark ceiling.

What has my life become? Why did Damon have to return? I was just beginning to rebuild my broken home, I was just starting to stitch my heart together and he came crashing back into my life. I am thankful for the happiness he has brought into Ella's life but this is only temporary. He will have to leave soon.

With him, he will take my daughter's smile. He will take away the years of hard work it took for me to be able to become the somewhat whole woman I am today. When he is gone, my heart will be lying in rubble once more. I will have to start again, from nothing. My daughter will have to adjust to only having myself and Mamma Mary all over again. Before, it was all she knew but, in the future, she will feel the loss of Damon.

Did I do the right thing by allowing Damon over the threshold of my home? Was I right in letting him forge a bond with my daughter? What will become of us after he leaves?

I wonder if the imprint he has left on my heart will ever heal.

My face is wet – there are tears. My throat feels rough. Have I been sobbing again? I am so deep in the swamps of the dark crevices of my mind that I cannot even reach my own consciousness. I cannot even muster an awareness of my own actions. I can hear whining, a high pitched, consistent whining that is coming from nowhere but everywhere. My hands are reaching up. There is sensation on my cheeks, as though my hands are touching them. My hands are wet.

The whining is louder, closer. I can hear a heartbeat, too, and it is so very fast. It is like a thousand galloping horses.

"Eloise. What is wrong?"

The voice is far, like it is under water. I am searching for it, trying to find it. It is warm and comforting, like a sun. Where is it?

"Eloise! Talk to me!"

I cannot find it. I am trying to locate it. I need that voice, I need the warmth. It is familiar.

Arms find my own and pull me closer. There is something solid, something warm. I clutch onto it, I hold it tight. I must never let it go, I must hold this tight. This is what I need to ground me, this feeling. The voice will help me find myself.

"That's it. Calm down, my love. I am with you."

Fingers are in my hair, massaging. I succumb to the warmth.