As Damon sits down at the table, I keep my eyes firmly on my plate, disbelief making my grip on my fork tighten, my knuckles turning white from the pressure.

I thought he said he would not stay. What is he doing here? Why has he not left?

He lowers himself into the seat near Ella, opposite me. Ella smiles up at him and then leans across to whisper something. Damon has to duck his head to listen to her and then he chuckles at her words, before winking at her and beginning to eat.

Mary meets my eye, raising an eyebrow. I can almost hear her thoughts; they're getting along so well already? Ella is not accustomed to strangers and she is not normally so open with people she does not know. It usually takes her a week or so to be able to say hello to them without hiding behind me. I shrug in response but truthfully, I have my theories as to why Ella has warmed up to Damon so easily. I suspect that deep down, maybe subconsciously, she feels a connection with him, seeing as he is her father. Perhaps she does not realise it, but she sees the similarities between her and him and she feels she can relate to him because of that.

I do not know how I feel about that.

We eat dinner, Ella occasionally breaking the silence with stories from her adventures today with a little girl called Clara who lives on the road behind us.

"Mummy, Clara's mummy's face was very funny when we dropped the jar in the pantry! We had to run away, she was so angry!" Ella giggles, her mouth full of food.

I sense Damon's eyes on me and look over. He is watching me. I wonder if he is thinking of the same thing as me; the time we ran through the pantry and my dress caught on a cabinet, causing the whole thing to come crashing to the ground. Damon and I had ran too, just like Ella and her friend Clara, we had ran from Mary and Cook, escaping to the garden and climbing a tree in our efforts to keep hidden.

Damon's eyes darken and he frowns, fixating his troubled stare on his food once more.

I suppose he was thinking of something else, after all.

"You should not be causing trouble, Ella." Mary is saying. "Clara's mother invited you into her home to play, not to destroy her belongings. What if she refuses to let you play with Clara anymore, darling?"

"Your Mamma Mary is right, Ella." I agree, giving my daughter a stern look. "What you did was wrong. You know that behaviour is unacceptable."

Ella's cheeks redden and she blinks up at me. "Sorry, Mummy. I will say sorry to Clara's mummy tomorrow."

Before I can speak, Damon chimes in. "I think you are being a little too rough with her. They were just having fun and it was purely an accident. I am sure Ella will apologise tomorrow."

Ella nods quickly, wide eyed, her eyes flicking from myself to Mary.

"Damon, she broke somebody else's property. Even if she does apologise, the jar will not be fixed." I say.

"It was a jar. I hardly think it was that valuable to the mother of Ella's friend." Damon shrugs, taking another bite of his food dismissively.

"Valuable or not, it is still somebody's property and Ella does not have the right to break it." I say through gritted teeth.

Annoyance stings at my insides at the way his words point fingers at my parenting. How dare he waltz into my home, sleep on my bench, eat my food and then criticise how I choose to discipline my child?

"Eloise, I do not see what all the fuss is about. She has done nothing which you have not done in the past."

I bristle. How dare he bring that up in front of my daughter?! "That was different."

"Really?" Damon's eyes narrow. "And how is that?"

"Ella, you may leave the table." I say, without looking in her direction, keeping my stony gaze pointed at Damon. "Your nursery was untidy and today, Mary will not clean it. You will do it, that is your punishment."

A sullen Ella trudges out of the room and Mary follows, partially to console her and most probably, to give Damon and I some privacy.

Damon is staring right at me with a challenging gaze. I push my plate away from myself, meeting his eyes with a level stare of my own. "What were you attempting to achieve just now?"

"Absolutely nothing. I just think it is absurd that you are scolding Ella for something that you have done in the past. Not just once, but dozens of times!" Damon says, his blue eyes full of judgement.

My nostrils flare and my fists clench. "I was a child. I was wrong. I will not let my daughter make the same mistakes I did."

"Really? What mistake was she making? Having fun? Being a child? Doing what all other children do?" Damon scoffs, his features twisting angrily.

"Her mistake was being self destructive." I shoot the words in his direction.

"Oh, she was? How?"

I stand, striding away from Damon to the window, staring out at the village I have called home for six years. Taking a deep breath, I say, "Damon, I do not expect you to understand. Society - even in this tiny village - is cruel and judgemental, especially towards women. I will not let my daughter be labelled by the mothers of this society as loud and unruly, as I was labelled. I had my mother's title of Duchess to protect me - Ella does not have that. I have no title, no prestige in this town which means I have no foothold with which to shield Ella. She cannot afford to stick out from the other children. I will not let her be judged."

I do not look back, but I know that if I do, Damon will be staring at me with a shell shocked expression and furrowed eyebrows. A hand grips my elbow and pulls me around. Damon looms over me, his face exactly as I thought it would be, if not slightly angrier.

"Are you Eloise?!" He splutters. "Are you the woman I knew six years ago, are you the girl I grew up with? Since when did society mean anything to you? When did you, the girl who rejected every rule that society laid out, suddenly become one of its robots? Since when did you restrict yourself to make society happy?"

"Since I had a child, Damon." I scowl up at him, my fists balling up tighter. "Since I realised my responsibilities as a mother! It is my duty to protect my daughter and to make sure she has the best future she could possibly have and she is not going to have that future if the people of this village think she is inappropriately behaved in any way. They will shun her, they will alienate my daughter and I will not have that."

"So, instead, you are going to cage your daughter." Damon shakes his head with disappointment, his features lined with disgust. "Do you not see what you are doing? Do you not remember the resentment you held towards your own mother for most of your life? She was doing the same thing that you want to and she succeeded with it, at least in public, but you despised her for it! You hated her! If you do not stop, Ella is going to grow up hating you!"

My heartbeat thumps in my ears, screeching for justice, my blood roaring in protest at his words and I raise a finger, pointing it straight at Damon's face, my maternal anger suppressing everything else. "You will never say something like that to me again. How dare you come in here and tell me that my daughter, who loves me very much, will grow to hate me? How dare you come in here and criticise how I raise my child? How dare you compare me to my mother in such a lowly way? Everything she ever did was for my happiness and it is because of my own ignorance that I was unable to see it when I was younger. In case you have forgotten, let me remind you that you have not been here for any of Ella's life and like my mother with me, I have raised her alone, all by myself. She does not need any more disadvantages in her life."

"Eloise, see it from rational eyes." Damon huffs, grabbing my forearms. "You are wrapping her up, hiding her behind yourself. You are not allowing her to live freely, which is what she needs at this age."

"Excuse me?!" I retort sharply, freeing myself from his grasp. "What she needs?! You know nothing of her needs! Why, you did not even know of her existence before yesterday!"

"And why is that? Because you sent me away!" Damon is now yelling.

I have never seen him this enraged.

"And?" I shriek. "You had plenty of opportunities to write to me, to come and visit the village like you have now! But did you? No!"

"Eloise, I am not to blame for this." Damon glares. "I am not to blame for the fact that you were so blinded by your inane desire for Emmanuel that you threw away everything you ever valued! Freedom, your spirit, your happiness, me, Chastity!"

At the sound of my deceased mare's name spouting from his lips, I stop him. "No. You do not get to talk about her in front of me."

"Why not? After all, you can bear to love her killer! You can bear to sleep in the same bed as the man who laid her to her grave! If you can do that, then why can I not say her name?!"

Involuntarily, reflexively, my fist shoots upward, aimed straight for Damon's face. He seems to have sensed it coming, because his hand also shoots upward, grabbing my wrist before it hits his face. His touch is both repulsive and electric, all at the same time. He holds my wrist in his grasp, his narrowed eyes meeting the burning fire of mine. I attempt to yank my wrist back, but Damon holds on tight, refusing to budge.

"Let go." I hiss.

"No. You'll punch me."

"You deserve it."

The evening sun brightens through the window and its glint hits the wedding bands on my finger. Before I can snatch back my hand, Damon has seen them. Almost immediately, the fury radiating from him is forgotten and he pulls my hand closer to his face, inspecting the wedding bands.

Our wedding bands.

"This is the wedding band you got for me. The wedding band I returned when you asked me to leave. Why are you wearing it? Where is Emmanuel's ring?" Damon questions, his grip on my wrist going slack ever so slightly.

Taking the chance, I rip my wrist from his grasp and shove him backwards with all of my might, stalking hurriedly out of the dining room. I can hear Damon's determined, heavy footsteps thudding behind me, rushing to catch up.

I head straight for the door, but in his determination to catch up to me, I think Damon does not notice. Or maybe he does, but it does not matter to him.

I can feel my stomach twisting in knots. I cannot believe I was so foolish - how could I forget to remove the rings?! He is not supposed to know! Stupid, foolish, mindless girl!

Cursing myself, I approach the front door and yank it open, turning to face Damon, who is almost upon me, an insane desperation shining in his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Eloise, you must tell me why you still have those rings on. Why do you still have them in your possession?" Damon attempts to grab me, but quickly, not wanting to feel the temptation of his touch, I push him towards the door.

"Get out!" I order, panic rising like bile within me. He cannot know. I keep glancing away from him, towards the stairs, hoping that Ella does not suddenly appear. That would make this awful situation even more desperate.

"What?" Damon pauses, digesting my words. "No! Eloise, you have to tell me why you still have those rings on! Just tell me!"

"I said, get out!" I yell, finally succeeding in getting him past the threshold of my home.

Before he can say another word, I slam the door shut and then lean against it, my breath escaping in short gasps, fear still pounding at me from the inside. My hands shake and I bring them together to my chest, attempting to calm myself before someone comes downstairs.

Damon leaves, but not before thumping at the door a few times in a last-ditch attempt for answers. Finally, silence envelopes the house. Mary comes rushing through the door opposite to me, her hands fingering the locket around her neck, the one I gifted to her two years ago.

"I heard shouting and banging. Are you okay?"

There must be some wild, unravelled look in my eye, because the next thing I know, Mary is wrapping me gently in her arms, cooing softly and stroking my hair. I can hear a strange, strangled sound. It sounds like gargling, or choking. I am not entirely sure where it is coming from. It seems to be everywhere all at once. I bury my face into Mary's shoulder and the sound becomes muffled. It takes me another second to realise the strange, strangled sounds are my sobs. No wonder my cheeks are wet.

"How could I tell him, Mary?" I say as Mary holds me at arms' length and wipes the tears from my face. "He saw that I wear our rings. What am I supposed to say? He wants to know why I still wear them, instead of the ring that Emmanuel was supposed to have given me. How do I say that after all this time, he is the only one I love? How do I tell him that the only reason I let him go six years ago was to save his life? How am I supposed to say that the reason I wear this ring is to feel him around me every day? I love him, Mary."

"Then, tell him." Mary urges gently, tucking my hair behind my ear. "It has been six years, Eloise. The two of you have suffered enough, have you not? Tell him why you sent him away and make yourself whole again. He is hiding behind a shield of wealth and indifference, he thinks he is dealing with being away from you but I knew from the moment I saw him, he is shattered inside."

"No. Mary, there is no way he can know." I say, grappling for Mary's hand, covering them with mine. "Emmanuel will kill him. He could still be keeping an eye on me, he said he would watch me. If he comes to know that Damon is here, Emmanuel will kill him. No, he mustn't know, Mary. I will not allow him to die because of my foolish, selfish emotions."

"And you think this is better? Living with all this pain, having a fatherless child, allowing him to resent you, secretly yearning for him? You think that is any better a life than to tell him what happened?"

"At least he's alive." I close my eyes against a tidal wave of pain, my lower lip trembling with the force of suppressed emotion. "I can see him in front of me, I can hear his voice, I can see him interact with our daughter."

"Yes, but you cannot reach out and touch him. You cannot tell him you love him. You cannot be the way you used to be with him." Mary says.

I already know that.

"I love him."

"I know." She cups my cheeks in her comforting, calloused hands.

"I can't let anybody hurt him."

"I know."

"I have to let him go."

"You'll never be able to."

"Then I will pretend. Like I have for the last six years, I will put a mask on and face the world and pretend that I do not love a man who could die for loving me."

***

Damon has not come to the house to see Ella for a week. Every morning, Ella wakes and asks for him. She has breakfast and then sits in the main room in my armchair, eyes glued to the door, waiting for him to walk in. Every evening, when I put her to bed, she cries in my arms and asks me why Mister Damon won't come to see her. She thinks her antics at Clara's home have made him hate her and that he will not see her because he is so disappointed with what she has done.

I do not know how to convince her that she has done nothing. I do not know how to tell her that I drove Damon away from this house, because I was scared.

After seven days of witnessing my daughter's heart break, after seven days of wiping her tears, I have had enough. Damon promised me that as long as he was here, he would not hurt my daughter and he has broken that promise already.

I will not let him hurt Ella any more.

I watch my daughter drowsily chew on her breakfast. She eats so much more slowly nowadays. I finished my breakfast ten minutes ago, yet she is still eating. It is not as though she is eating more, in fact, she has been eating less since Damon stopped coming.

Mary bustles into the dining room, her usual cheeriness surrounding her like a bubble.

"Good morning!" She chirps, ruffling Ella's hair and kissing the top of her head before raising her eyebrows in my direction.

I shake my head, signalling the fact that Ella has shown no sign of an improvement.

Mary sits down next to Ella, who has finally finished her plate.

"Ella?" Mary says, in the same comforting tone she used on me when I was a child. "Darling, what should we do today? What would you like to do?"

"Is Mister Damon coming?" Ella asks weakly.

"I'm not sure, sweetheart. We can do something together, just you and Mamma Mary."

"No, thank you." Ella gets up and leaves the room.

I expel my frustration through a sharp exhale. "How can she be so upset over this? She knew him for two days! Just two days and she is so heartbroken! What spell did he cast on my daughter?"

"He is the first man in her life who truly tried to bond with her. It isn't completely unexpected that she would grow so attached to him so soon." Mary shrugs.

"He is hurting her. No matter what happens between the two of us, Damon is not allowed to simply shirk away from his duties to Ella!"

"In this moment, Ella needs us. She is blaming herself for Damon's absence. Damon needs to come home soon."

My head snaps up at her words. "This is not his home, Mary. It hasn't been for six years."

Mary sighs and walks out of the room. I follow her, hoping that my daughter is doing something other than waiting for Damon in my armchair.

I find her in the same position as always, in my armchair, knees up to her chest, eyes fixated on the door.

I take in her frail, vulnerable body and my gut twists, tears springing to my eyes. How could he do this to her?! How could Damon walk in here, spinning tall tales of wanting to be a father, then abandon her altogether?! Enough is enough!

Bending down in front of Ella, I kiss her forehead. "Mummy has something to attend to. I will be home soon, okay, dear?"

Ella nods, attempting to conjure up a smile. At least she tried.

Stroking her cheek, I stand up and leave the house, knowing Mary will take care of Ella while I am gone.

The morning air is crisp and a little chilly. Luckily, I am wearing a dress with quite a thick material and it is more than enough to shield me from the frosty weather. By noon, though, the sun will be scorching and this dress will be impossible to leave the house in.

I pass several homes as I walk. They all seem to be abuzz with activity, full of mothers readying their children for school and their husbands for work. Some people wave to me as I walk, asking of Ella. Despite her recent misdemeanour, Ella is well loved in the village. People are drawn to her, they always say her eyes are one of the most enchanting they have ever seen. It is not just her looks that have enraptured the villagers, however. Ella loves to visit the people here, helping them with their chores, spending time with other children, accompanying people to the market so she can carry their groceries with them. Ella is naturally a giving person and the village loves her for it. They all adore her.

Now, if I remember clearly, Damon said he was staying at Rawtenstall Lodgings. The lodge is directly opposite the village square.

Rounding a corner, I approach the square, which is relatively empty. Stall owners are busy setting up their business, eyes aglitter with the thought of the money they will earn throughout the course of the day. To one side, there is the Village Hall, where all the villagers gather for ceremonies and festivals.

To the other, there is my destination, Rawtenstall Lodgings. Increasing my pace, I head straight for the brown double doors, pushing through them and into the lobby.

Mrs Rawtenstall, the owner's wife, is polishing the cherry wood desk. She looks up as I enter and beams, dropping the cloth and wiping her hands on her apron.

"Good morning, dear! How may I help you?"

"Good morning, Mrs Rawtenstall." I politely return the smile. "I was wondering if you could tell me which room is occupied by Damon Wilcox."

"Oh, Mr Wilcox?" Mrs Rawtenstall beams even wider. "He is in room twelve, just down the hall. He's a lovely man!"

"Thank you." I say, before heading in the direction of Damon's room.

I pass room eight, nine, ten, eleven...

Here we are. This is Damon's room. I raise my hand, ready to knock on the door. It opens swiftly just before I can touch the wood. A woman stands in the doorway, red rouge painting her lips, fixing her dishevelled hair. She is wearing a floor-length coat, currently unbuttoned, displaying the fact she has little else but a sheer night gown underneath.

Have I got the wrong room?

Sensing my shocked gaze, she meets my eyes and grins coyly, buttoning her coat.

"Goodbye, Mr Wilcox. Maybe we will meet again someday." She throws over her shoulder.

A chuckle resonates from inside the room and I freeze. Did he...

"Goodbye, Estelle." I hear his sleep-laced voice call.

He did.

"You have a visitor, by the way." The woman winks at me before manoeuvring her lithe body around me and strutting away down the hall.

Has Damon changed so much? Has he really become so cold that he would shamelessly invite women into his bed? Would he really use a woman's body for the comfort of a night? How could my Damon do something like that? He is not that type of man, he would never...

My heart lurches with betrayal. Is this corridor extremely warm or is it just me? Why does my dress suddenly feel so tight and suffocating? I can barely breathe. What is happening to me? I attempt to exhale to relieve the pressure in my chest, but my throat is constricted and not even air can pass through.

"Eloise?"

My head jerks hard enough to snap off, meeting the concerned eyes of the man I love. Used to love.

Liar, my subconscious tells me. I shake it off, not wanting to break down here in front of him.

Pulling myself together, masking the internal chaos, I muster a reply. "Sorry. I was not made aware that you were entertaining guests. I shall return later in the day."

I turn to leave, wanting nothing more than to get out of this hallway of horrors. I just want to go home and tell Ella that Damon will never return, but we can make each other happy again, just like we did before Damon came colliding into our lives. I was a fool for thinking our arrangement could work. I failed to protect my daughter.

A hand clasps my wrist. Electricity, stronger than ever, channels through my skin and I quickly pull away.

"Eloise, at least tell me why you came." Damon says, from behind me.

I turn to face him. "We can discuss that later. I don't wish to intrude."

"What are you... Oh." The colour drains from Damon's face. Guilt registers there, but not enough to put out the fire rampaging through my chest. "Eloise, I..."

"It is none of my business." I hold a hand up to stop him. I simply cannot hear his excuses. I cannot stand here and listen to him justify the presence of a barely dressed escort in his room. "I merely came here to discuss a few things."

"Okay, well, come inside. We can talk there." Damon sighs, steering me into his room, closing the door behind me.

To my left, there is Damon's bed, situated under a large window overlooking the square. The sheets are strewn across the bed, rumpled and creased, half falling off the floor. One of Damon's shirts is on the floor, thrown or dropped haphazardly. A pair of his trousers is draped over the flower pot on the bedside cabinet.

Gulping, I turn my head to inspect the other side. It is much cleaner and much kinder to my rapidly shattering heart. There are two chaises protecting a cherry wood table. No incriminating pieces of clothing are strewn over them, I notice.

My eyes venture back to Damon, who is looking sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. It is only now that I realise what he is wearing.

He is dressed only in an undershirt and trousers, his bare arms painfully visible to me. His bicep bulges as he scratches his neck and I look away, my blood rushing to my head in a mix of euphoria and tear-inducing pain.

Damon chuckles nervously. "Sorry. The place is messy, I was not expecting to have you in here."

"I know." It barely comes out as a whisper.

"You take a seat and I shall be with you in a second. I will clean up and make myself presentable." Damon says, pointing to the chaises. "Would you like me to order up some breakfast?"

"If you would like some, then yes, but I have eaten."

And even if I had an appetite, it is long gone.

I glide over to the chaises, inspecting them for any more hastily removed pieces of clothing and then sitting down. I intentionally choose the one which has its back to the bed and Damon, so I do not have to watch him conceal the evidence of his eventful night.

Once more, betrayal seethes through me but I push it away, saving it for later. I am here for Ella, my daughter, who is sitting at home and waiting for a man who is doing nothing but entertaining escorts.

Anger courses through me and I sigh in relief. Anger, I can deal with. Heartbreak? Anguish? They would crush me if I felt them for too long.

Damon strides past me and through a door parallel to myself, clutching a shirt and something else in his hand.

Raking in a deep breath, I risk turning around. He has tidied up the bed sheets, his clothes neatly folded on top of them. If I didn't see that escort, I would never have guessed that the Damon I grew up with would have done something like this. I never would have known what happened.

But I do.

I turn my head back around just as the door opens and Damon walks back in, dressed in a crisp black dress shirt and a waistcoat.

Buttoning up his sleeve cuffs, he sits down in the other chaise and crosses his legs. "What did you want to see me for?"

"Well, Damon." I begin, maternal instincts taking over. "You have not visited Ella for a week now."

Damon averts his gaze. "After the last time I was over there, I thought it would be best to stay away for a while."

Despite my brain screeching coward at him, I calmly reply, "No matter what happens between us, I do not expect you to just abandon Ella. You promised me, Damon, you promised me to never hurt her and you broke that promise in two days!"

Damon pales. "I'm sorry, Eloise. Is she okay?"

"I have never seen her so miserable in my entire life."

"Okay." Damon stands, putting on a suit jacket over his waistcoat and buttoning it up.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"We are leaving. I need to see Ella." He just smiles apologetically at me.

Stunned, I just stare at him. It was just that easy? I was expecting excuses and justifications, perhaps even another argument, but not this. I did not expect him to just do nothing but go and see her. I did not even have the chance to start the speech I had mentally prepared on my way here.

"Well, come on. I have to make up for my mistake." Damon smiles, holding the door open for me from across the room.

Nodding, I stand up, walking straight out of the room and into the corridor. Damon locks the door behind us, pocketing the key.

As we leave the lodge, Damon begins the justifications I had expected to come earlier.

"After the second day, returning to see Ella did pass through my mind. I missed her, as unusual as that may sound considering I have only known her for two days."

"It is not strange, not after what I have witnessed my daughter go through." I shrug.

Damon glances down at me. "Eloise, please do not make me feel more guilt than I already do."

"If you had shown up, that guilt would be non-existent, I assure you."

Sighing, Damon pulls me out of the way of a passing coach and straightens to his full height, so my head is forced to crane up to see him.

"Do not try to start a fight with me, Eloise. That is not why I came here and it is not why I am coming with you to your home." He says. "Let's try to keep the peace."

Then we're walking again, this time in silence. I keep my eyes on the ground, knowing that the people of the village will surely make some rumours or ask questions if they see Damon and I strolling through town. I doubt society deems an unwed mother conversing with an eligible bachelor proper. I doubt society deems an unwed mother proper. I wonder what they would think if they knew this unwed mother is not unwed, but had to separate from her husband. Would that be more or less scandalous?

Nevertheless, to them, I am an unwed mother. I need to protect my daughter and that is the only reason I am striding through town with Damon.

We begin to climb the mildly steep hill that leads to my home and Damon's eyes keep landing on me, flitting in my direction and then flitting away repeatedly. I try to ignore it but I can feel myself revelling under his gaze, I can feel the familiar restlessness in my stomach. I can feel all the things I promised not to feel before I set off to see Damon. All of it makes me hurry up the hill to my home, Damon striding to keep up with me even though his legs are longer than mine.

Finally, my home comes into view and I rush through the garden, eager to surprise my baby. She will be so excited, I just know it. I wait for Damon at the front door, watching him pick his way through the flowers. They really are out of control, you can hardly see the path because of them. One of these days, Mary and I will take down the excess flowers and Ella can take them down to the villagers. They will appreciate the gesture, I am sure of it.

Damon comes to a halt in front of me, watching me with an expectant look.

"Ella will most likely be in my armchair, looking tortured. She has not been eating well." I say, guilt at my own failure as a mother making my palms clammy.

"Well, then, it is best we get her in a good mood as soon as possible." Damon replies.

Nodding, I turn around and open the front door. Ella is still in her armchair and an array of her toys are on the floor around her, untouched. As I enter, her glum expression remains unchanged.

"Ella, Mummy has a big surprise for you."

"No, Mummy. Give it to Clara instead, as a sorry gift for the broken jar." Her lip trembles, the small action a constriction around my heart.

"Oh, okay. Would you please tell me where Clara lives?" Damon says as he enters the room.

Ella's reaction is instantaneous. Her face breaks out in the familiar grin I have been so deprived of recently and she leaps from the armchair, sprinting straight into Damon's waiting arms.

He laughs at her eager welcoming, taking her into his arms and spinning her around, holding her close to himself. They seem to revel in each other's presence, happiness radiating from them like warmth. I cannot fight the smile on my face.

"I hear you have been quite a miserable child, little one." Damon says, perching Ella on his hip.

"I missed you, Mister Damon. I thought you hated me." Ella says with a tinge of sadness, her fingers fiddling with the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Ella, I could never hate you." Damon assures her, emotion flashing in his clear cerulean eyes.

I watch the two of them interact, taken aback by a sight that I never thought I would see. Damon and Ella, both of them together, completely in awe of each other, enjoying being around each other. I never even imagined that Damon would know his daughter existed. Yet here they both are. I want to go over and join them, but I would hate to intrude upon their moment and it seems like such a private exchange that they're having.

Instead, I make my way to the kitchen and find Mary there, busily preparing lunch. She looks back as I enter and smiles warmly, "Damon is back, I presume?"

"Yes, he is. I went to the lodge." I say and then walk over to Mary, watching her chop vegetables. "Ella is ecstatic. Perhaps it will motivate her to eat."

"I should hope so." Mary tuts, before putting the knife down and turning to face me. "Did you discuss the argument you both got into?"

"No, of course not." I scoff. "Things are already strained between us, I can hardly look at him. The last thing I want to do is bring that altercation up, it would just start another one."

"Well, what did you discuss then? The walk from the lodge is not the shortest. You must have talked about something." Mary says, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Actually, there was no real talking between the two of us."

"Oh, please! You were gone for much longer than I expected, what were you doing if not talking?" Mary smirks knowingly.

I look away, the events of this morning prodding at my mind, tears pricking my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I blurt, "I bumped into a woman leaving his room."

"Who, Mrs Rawtenstall?"

I shake my head. "She was... he had hired an escort."

Tentatively, I meet Mary's gaze. She stares at me, her face blank of emotion and her eyes glassy. With my breath held, I wait for her to respond. She exhales, a short, bursting gasp and then seems to pull herself out of the trance, busying herself with the vegetables once more.

"Eloise. You should not say such things so lightly, you know that. How can you be certain she was an escort?" Mary says without looking at me once, her hand moving rapidly to chop, chop, chop the vegetables.

"I am certain because if that woman was a cleaner or just somebody else and not an escort, she would have been fully dressed."

Chop, chop, chop.

"Damon would have been fully dressed."

Chop, chop, chop.

"His trousers would not have been on the flower pot and his shirt would not have been on the floor. He certainly would not have struggled to look at me when he realised I had met his night-long friend."

Chop, ch-

The knife stills. Mary puts the knife down and turns to me, an eerie look in her eye. "Eloise. It is impossible. Our Damon is not of those men. He is different, you know that."

"No, he is one of those men. He is no longer our Damon.He is not different."

"He loves you, he would never do that."

"No, Mary, he does not!" I hiss, suddenly enraged. "He does not love me, he told me so! And even if I choose to dismiss that as lies, what I have witnessed today is a pure demonstration of the fact he has no feelings for me. If he did, he would think twice, thrice, even four times, before reflecting on the choice he has to endure a little discomfort or to satisfy his needs with a money-hungry stranger! He does not love me, Mary, he loves himself and his needs and his satisfaction. He does not have any feelings for me, not even respect!"

"Eloise. That is not true." Mary says in a low voice.

"No, it is true!" I insist. "If it was not, Damon would not have undermined me as a parent, he would not have treated me the way he has the few times we have spoken in private! Maybe it is my fault, maybe it is because I pushed him away all those years ago that he is now this cold, distant man who uses and discards women as he pleases! Maybe it is my fault that I took a wonderful, near perfect man and turned him into a monster with no values!"

"Eloise, stop shouting or Damon will hear you! None of this is your fault," Mary reaches out to comfort me with her touch. "Damon is not a valueless monster. He is still the same man."

"Really, Mary?" I say, my gaze shooting straight through hers. "You still believe that? Damon is the exact same man he used to be?"

It is only for a moment, but I see doubt flicker in her warm eyes and like a starving beggar, I pounce on it greedily, "See? Even you do not believe your own words, Mary."

Mary sighs and moves away from me, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. The tired gesture makes guilt wash through me. Here I am, shouting and venting my frustration on Mary when Damon is the one to blame.

I bite my lip. "Mary. I... I was being a little too forceful. I'm sorry."

Mary sends a sympathetic smile my way. "No need to apologise. After having discovered what you have, I do not blame you at all for being so overwhelmed."

I nod, shuffling my feet and looking at the ground.

"Off you go now." Mary orders. "Go and spend time with Damon and Ella, I will summon you all for lunch."

Silently, I drift out of the kitchen, following the sound of laughter and happiness to Ella's nursery. It used to be a storage room, but on her third birthday, Ella decided she needed a separate room for all her toys and clothes.

When I get to the nursery, I slowly swing open the door, revealing Damon lying on his side, propped up on an elbow with the rag doll Ella got for her birthday from the woman I work for. He speaks in a girly voice to the doll Ella is holding, enacting a conversation between two friends in quite an enthusiastic manner.

"But Elizabeth! I told my mother I was going to your ball! Now she knows I lied and I will be forced to dance with that old, smelly man at the Fosters' ball!"

Ella giggles before putting on a high pitched voice and saying, "Sorry, Anne, I just couldn't lie. Your mother reminds me of the devil and I got scared!"

"What?!" Damon screeches in a voice that nearly has me clutching my stomach in fits of laughter. "My mother reminds you of the devil?! I shall have you know, my mother is close to an angel!"

Then, Damon's doll lunges for Ella's doll, tackling her to the ground and 'killing' her.

Smirking, I clap loudly, "Bravo! Bravo!"

Damon seems embarrassed at having been caught playing with dolls, but he quickly recovers and stands up, dragging Ella with him, telling her to curtsy while he bows deeply.

"It was our pleasure." He says as he stretches back to his full height. "Isn't that right, Ella?"

Ella nods, hands clasped business-like in front of her. "It was our pleasure to make you happy."

"As it is my pleasure to announce that you, my little entertainer, will be having lunch very soon." I walk over and scoop Ella into my arms, planting a gentle kiss on her nose.

"Really?" Ella beams. "I am so hungry, I could eat a donkey!"

"I believe the saying is I could eat a horse, little one." Damon reaches past me, pulling on Ella's cheek and laughing when she rubs her reddened skin with a pout.

Squirming out of my arms, she looks up at Damon and twines their hands together.

"Mummy, Mister Damon wants to take me to the carousel again. Will you come?"

"No, darling, not today. Mummy has work straight after lunch." I decline quickly.

I sense Damon's questioning gaze upon me and before I have time to both squirm under and relish it, Mary calls to us for lunch. Suddenly overcome by hunger, Ella shoves past me and out of the room, knocking me off balance, shouting with glee as she thuds down the stairs.

I attempt to catch my balance, my arms slicing through the air. My heel catches onto the back of my skirt and I squeal as I fall backward.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for impact. Nothing comes. A weight is at my back, holding me up. Dread fills me and reluctantly, I open my eyes. Damon is holding me, his bright blue eyes scanning my face. I cannot remember the last time I saw his face so close. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him, to press my palm into his cheek like I used to do, to feel that familiar shot of intoxicating life every time our skin connected. I cannot help but to lock my eyes with his, gazing into that perfect sea of blue, those beautiful blues that would fill so effortlessly with love for me. The familiar rush of adoration for Damon flows through me and I feel myself relaxing into his arms.

This is where I belong. Mary was right, I should tell Damon why I asked him to leave all those years ago. There is no possibility of Emmanuel posing a threat any longer, six years have passed and he has his own family to worry about. Damon and I can be free again, free to love each other and be a true family.

A woman stands in the doorway, red rouge painting her lips, fixing her dishevelled hair. She is wearing a floor-length coat, currently unbuttoned, displaying the fact she has little else but a sheer night gown underneath.

The memory has me recoiling and I rip myself from Damon's arms. Hurt registers on his face but he is quick to master it, quickly returning to the usual nonchalant expression he wears. Then the mask drops and Damon shuffles his feet awkwardly, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Can I talk to you about something?" He says.

Oh no. I cannot talk about that. I cannot hear him try to explain that.

"Maybe after lunch." I suggest, turning and attempting to escape. Damon quickly latches on to my arm, his reflexes far superior than my own.

"Wait." He says softly. "Please, let me explain myself. After what you saw this morning, I owe you that."

I shake my head. "No, you do not. What you do in your private time is none of my concern, nor my business."

"Yes. It is, Eloise, even if you do not admit it. You are my..." Damon trails off, the tips of his ears go red and he clears his throat. "You are the mother of my daughter and you deserve to know."

I begin to shake my head but Damon glares at me firmly.

"Just listen to me. Estelle is a woman I met two nights ago, when I was on a walk. She is an escort."

My heart clenches almost as tight as my fists and I feel my eyes beginning to sting. A mixture of barely contained anger and heartbreak shudders through me, my legs trembling beneath my skirt. I have to fight with everything I have to keep my bottom lip from trembling; it would surely give me away.

I turn my back to Damon, bowing my head and swallowing back a sob. "It is none of my concern. Please, Damon, do not explain yourself to me."

"No, I must ease my conscience." Damon says.

At his words, anger surges within me, whipping the sorrow and heart break away. "Ease your conscience? Ease your conscience?! Where was your conscience when you brought that escort to your suite? Where was your conscience when you used her body to fulfil your needs? What happened to your conscience at that point, Damon? Where was it? Buried under all the lust?" I hiss, scowling up at the man I thought I knew.

Damon clutches at my hand but I wrench it from his grasp.

"Eloise, I, I was not in the correct frame of mind. I was intoxicated! All of my actions were tainted by alcohol, I was barely aware of my surroundings!" He justifies, attempting to move closer to me.

"Oh, you were intoxicated! I could not possibly hold it against you if you were under the influence of alcohol!" I mock, a hand to my chest. "Damon, that excuse is revolting. You think that just because you drank too much alcohol, it is acceptable for you to buy your way into another human being's body?!"

"Of course not." Damon is flustered now, unsure of what to say. He just gapes at me, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. I almost wonder if he is intoxicated right now, but quickly dismiss the idea. He is much too coherent to be intoxicated.

"Just imagine. Just picture yourself in my place. Imagine I was the one who had gone out and slept with a man, how would you -"

Abruptly, the air is knocked out of me and I am propelled backwards. I barely have time to catch my breath before my back slams against a wall. Damon is inches away from my face, a frightening amount of fury blazing in his eyes, his coiled body quivering with carefully controlled rage.

"Never." Damon growls. "You never say anything like that to me ever again. Understand?"

"What are you -"

"No! You can do anything to me, you can punch me, but you are not... you cannot ever say anything like that to me!" The fury in his eyes is lethal. His jaw clenches and unclenches repeatedly and now I am the one who fumbles for a reply.

"Damon, why are you... what in the world are you doing?" I say, something resembling fear washing through my veins, as I watch the man I love become consumed by raging fury.

"I admit," Damon growls. "I was wrong. I should not have done what I did. Still, that does not give you... how could you say that to me? How?!"

"Damon." I swallow, placing my hands on his chest, my skin rejoicing at the intimate contact. "You need to let go of me."

Damon frowns, pushing me further into the wall. "Listen to me! Listen to the words I am speaking! Tell me that you will never say something like that again!"

"Why are you reacting like this?" I push gently on his chest, attempting to put some distance between us. Being so close to him is dangerous. I could easily forget my boundaries under his touch.

Damon just presses forward in return, his nose mere centimetres from mine. I can feel my eyes go wide at his proximity, my stomach jolts and my legs are quivering. A mixture of fear and delight is attacking my brain and I fight to think straight. This cannot be happening. I can't allow it to happen.

"Just say it!" Damon hisses, baring his teeth. "Just say that you will not let another man touch you!"

My thoughts are scattered. His proximity flusters me. What is happening? He can't be so close to me. I will surely do something wrong. He can't be near me. What am I doing? What is he doing? Why is he not moving away from me?

"Eloise!" Damon shakes me, hard enough to make me snap to attention yet gentle enough so I am not hurt. "Tell me you will not let anyone else touch you! Tell me now, or, God help me..."

I cannot reply; what will I say? I'm supposed to be Emmanuel's wife. How can I tell him that? I simply push him, attempting to be free of his captivating hold. Shoving him as hard as I can, Damon stumbles backwards and I dash to the side but Damon yanks me back by the waist, pinning me against the wall.

"Are you not comprehending my words?!" Damon shudders with rage. I can only gape at him in bewilderment. "Fine. I will demonstrate my words."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, an alarm is screeching. It is shrieking that this is wrong, this should not be happening, I need to get away from Damon.

Yet, I cannot bring myself to pull away from him. He is closer than ever and he is intoxicating me. His eyes are dark and his head is lowering... what is he doing? He just said something about demonstrating... Oh no.

A pair of lips fuse at my neck, brushing at the tender skin, trailing soft lines and I freeze. Is Damon... Am I... Is this real? Am I dreaming?

"Tell me you will not let another man touch you like this." A gentle bite.

My eyelids droop. This is real. This is Damon, my Damon. The man I love. Why am I so opposed to something that feels like this? Why do I make things so complicated? All I need is this. Him.

"Tell me. Tell me you will not allow another man to touch you." Lips at my jaw, moving, nipping, closer to my mouth.

My lips part of their own accord. Hands at my hips. Drawing me closer. Breath skittering over my face. My hands, tangled in soft hair. Lips, so close to mine. So far from mine. Hands, leaving my hips, cupping my cheeks. Preparing me for the inevitable kiss. A door, downstairs. Closing. Footsteps.

I gasp and with all the force in me, I fling Damon away from me with both hands, which then come up to my mouth protectively, creating a barrier for the hot breaths I gasp, my cheeks hot.

Damon's eyes are still dark, but it is no longer anger that darkens them. It is something much different. He watches me wordlessly, his chest heaving like mine.

"How could you..." I trail off, gasping for words. "Why would you do that?! You know..."

"Know what?" Damon growls. "Know that you're married to Emmanuel? Yes, I know, but I also know that you were wearing the wedding ring I put on you!"

"Yes and you know why?" I almost yell. "Because we were best friends long before you were my husband! I wanted to feel my best friend with me! Just because I made you leave, does not mean..."

"I am no longer your best friend? Is that what you were going to say?" Damon looks at me with unconcealed disgust. "You keep that ring on so you can keep me bound to you, if not in presence, then in spirit. I will not let you be so selfish! Why should you get everything?! Why should you get the husband you wanted and your best friend, when I lost my wife and my best friend, all at once?! Why should you get everything and leave me with nothing?!"

"No, no, you still have me, your best friend. I will always be your best friend, Damon. Even when you thought you'd lost me, I was still there. I always - "

"Eloise. That is a lie. You cannot be Emmanuel's wife and my best friend."

I am crying. I can feel them, the tears, dripping down my face. "Damon, please. Don't do this."

"I am not doing anything that you have not. I simply am reaffirming our boundaries."

"Damon, we can be friends." I urge, feeling tears on my cheeks.

"No!" He yells, his features dark, twisted, ugly in the most beautiful way. "I cannot, I will not be your friend again! After all that has happened between us, after all that we became, you think that I can go back to being your friend?!"

"Damon, we were friends before. We were friends when you came back a week ago!"

"That was not me being your friend, Eloise!" Damon spits. "That was me being a human being, that was me trying to earn your trust so I would be allowed around my daughter!"

I frown, taken aback by his words. "You were trying to... Damon, I never lost faith in you in the first place, why would you want to earn my trust?"

"You..." Damon growls in annoyance, raking his fingers through his hair and storming over to me, grabbing my forearms and pressing me against him. It is not a loving touch. "You married Emmanuel. A man who would not hesitate twice in killing me."

Little does he know.

"For all I knew, Emmanuel was hiding in the house with an axe, waiting to get me. This may be difficult for you to comprehend, but while you got the 'man of your dreams' and a daughter, I got loneliness. While you got motherhood, I got poverty. You became a distant memory, one that I pushed to the corners of my mind. You are a separate lifetime."

"Stop it!" I yell, glaring at Damon, not wanting to hear of his struggles, the ones inflicted purely because of his love for me. "What in the world has gotten into you? You need to go downstairs and have some lunch and compose yourself. Maybe later, we can talk about things."

"Do not treat me like I am Ella's age!" Damon hisses.

"Well, stop acting like you are Ella's age." I reply, holding on to the threads of my composure. Damon's words have shaken me a lot more than I dare to show. Ignoring the rampant emotions wreaking havoc within me, I focus on Damon. I need to get him out of here, before I lose control.

"I am going to lunch." Damon announces. "When I come back, I am taking my half of our wedding bands."

He turns and stalks out of the room. Once I am sure he has gone down the stairs and into the dining room, I flee from Ella's nursery into my own room. Closing my bedroom door behind me, I clasp my shaking hands and feel the tears falling faster, silent wails constricting my throat. I stumble over to my bed, collapsing to my knees at its side. Wiping my tears, trembling, I reach under the bed and pull out a box.

It is made of wood, robust and plain except for an ornate metal clasp. Opening the clasp, I delve into the contents, hoping to latch on to the peaceful memories they hold.

The first thing I take out is a pendant. A heart shaped ruby pendant Damon got for me the day we had been married for a month. The next thing to come out of the box are pressed flowers that Damon had tucked behind my ear the day we went for a walk in the pastures. A letter that Damon gave to me the day after our marriage. A sketch that Damon had done of me. That was the day we both decided Damon's future career was not in the arts.

Finally, the rings I have stashed here so nobody finds them. The rings that Damon and I pushed on to each other's fingers after saying our vows. Our wedding rings.

I will never return these to Damon. He is going insane. One moment, he was peppering kisses on my neck and my jaw and the next, he was giving me an ultimatum.

I settle down with my box of treasures, opening the letter from Damon and reading it for what must be the millionth time. My Damon, the Damon of six years back, resides in the creases of this paper. That Damon is the Damon I love and know, not this strange creature downstairs who shares his bed with strangers and manhandles me like a rag doll.

I was dangerously close to kissing Damon in the nursery. That cannot happen again. Why did I let him near me? I must keep him at arms' length! I cannot trust myself and my reactions around him. He enchants me, even now. Even after all that has happened, I love him like no other.

He is still the life force that drives me. In the two weeks he has been here, I have felt more emotion than I have for six years. That fact alone terrifies me. Emotions cloud judgement, and when it comes to Damon, my judgement is cloudy enough without dizzying emotions being added to the mix. Damon is dangerous. When I am around him, my mind becomes dangerous, it betrays me in its need to be surrounded by him. He thinks that he is the only one who has experienced loneliness, he thinks that from the two of us, he was the only heartbroken one but he is so very wrong. He has not seen the sleepless nights I suffered through, he has not seen the torrent of tears I soaked my sheets with, he has not heard infant Ella wail in her bed while I stood over her, listless, thinking of how her cries sounded so much like my own.

He did not see the two, three years after he left, where it was a Herculean effort for me just to leave my bed in the morning, where Mary became Ella's mother and mine equally, where I feared every dark corner for the thought Emmanuel would pop out with Damon's lifeless body. Those years were the darkest of my life and Damon has no idea. He thinks he is the only one who has been tormented, he thinks he is the only one who has experienced solitude but how do I tell him that he was not alone even in his suffering? I was there all along, suffering beside him.

He just does not know it.

Carefully arranging my treasures in their box, I slide it back under the bed, concealing it with the sheets and then haul myself up on to the bed. I hope Damon realises that what he is doing is wrong. I hope he realises that what he is asking is impossible. I hope he tells me to forget everything he has said. I cannot give him everything, I cannot let him be my everything again and then be killed. Yet I cannot have him be nothing to me either. I cannot be with him but I cannot be without him.

There is a knock on my door. It must be Mary, asking me why I did not join them for lunch. Dashing over to my dresser, I take out my work apron and cap, quickly pulling them on.

"Come in." I call.

And then in walks Damon.

I clutch the edge of the dresser, my heartbeat galloping. Is he here to demand the rings back? I could never give him back those rings... they are the only things that still pulsate with his presence. He cannot take them away from me.

"What is it?" I ask, turning away from him, bracing myself on my dresser. I do not want to hear his words.

"Eloise. Please look at me." His voice is gentle, soothing, pulling at me.

I shake my head silently; my voice is untrustworthy right now. It might crack or say something that I will never be able to make him forget.

"Please."

Steps. Approaching me. My muscles tighten, they go rigid at the sensation of hands on my arms. The hands pull me around and then tilt my head up to meet two shining blue eyes.

"I am sorry." He says.

Oh, no. Oh, dear God. He is apologising. He is asking for the rings back. Should I pretend I have lost them? Or buried them somewhere in the garden? Which is more realistic? The latter seems like something I would do. I can say that I needed closure. Yes, that seems reasonable. I will not let him take those rings with him.

"Are you listening?" Damon is asking.

"No." I blurt without thinking. "Oh, that was rude. I meant..."

"It's okay." There is a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Well, I am glad he finds this entertaining. I am glad he finds the fact that I cannot even form a coherent thought amusing. Attempting to conceal a pout, I turn my head away, waiting for the blow of his next words.

Damon steps back. "May I have my ring back, please?"

The blow hurts more than I had prepared myself for. I look up at him. How can he be so calm after igniting such a storm within me? What could he possibly want with the ring when it no longer holds any significance for him?

"Why?" I whisper.

"It is mine." He says. "That is my ring, my property. I would like it back."

I hold his gaze. He stares down at me, unwavering, waiting.

"I... I do not have it."

The look in his eyes tells me instantaneously that he does not believe me. "Eloise. Please. Simply return it."

"It's not yours." I blurt.

Damon frowns at me, "What?"

"The ring is not yours. The ring is one I purchased. That makes it mine."

Damon sighs in frustration and says, "Fine. Give me your ring, then."

"Mine?" I squeak.

"Yes. I purchased your ring, so that makes it mine. Return it to me." He says stonily.

Meeting his gaze, I know that I cannot persuade him to leave the ring with me. He has a look in his eyes, stony and unbreakable. Determined. My shoulders slump with the weight of defeat.

"You may have it. Wait outside." I mumble, unable to look at him, tears filling my eyes.

Damon spins on his heel, leaving and closing the door behind him. With heavy feet and a burdened heart, I walk over to the bed once more, taking the box out and removing my wedding from its contents.

I hold it to myself, tears scattering down my cheeks. The last symbol of the life Damon and I shared is this ring. The last symbol of our love. I have not spent a day without this ring on my finger for six years. It is a part of me and now, I must give it away. I must give it back to the very man who adorned it on my finger.

Composing myself, I stalk to my bedroom door and open it. Damon straightens his back, outstretching his hand. I drop the ring into it, without looking at him. Then, I close the door, shutting him out.