Daisy

The soft click of the front door echoed through the apartment, and Daisy's heart immediately sank. She sat frozen on the plush white couch, hugging one of the throw pillows tightly to her chest. The TV played quietly in the background — some silly sitcom she wasn’t even paying attention to anymore — but the laughter from the screen only made the room feel emptier.

He left. And he hadn't kissed her goodbye.

Her lips trembled just a little as she hugged the pillow tighter, her blue eyes growing glossy with the sting of hurt feelings. It wasn’t that he had been angry or anything; he'd just seemed distracted, rushing around grabbing his keys and wallet before heading out to the shop. She had been sitting right there, looking at him — waiting — hoping he'd notice. Hoping he'd lean down like he usually did, maybe brush her hair back and press a warm kiss to her forehead or lips before he left.

But he hadn't. And now, the apartment felt cold.

Daisy shifted on the couch, burying half her face into the pillow. Her cheeks puffed out in a small, childish pout. She knew it was silly — he was just going to the store, and he'd probably be back soon — but it didn't stop the ache in her chest. To her, even small things mattered so much. Being forgotten, even for a second, made her feel small and unimportant in a way that stuck with her all day.

She sniffled softly, glancing toward the door with sad, expectant eyes. Maybe he’d realize... Maybe he’d come back just to kiss her...

Until then, Daisy would sit there on the couch, sulking in her soft pajamas, feeling like the most tragically abandoned girl in the world.

The faint scent of metal and sweat hung in the warm air of the garage, where the sunlight filtered in through the half-open door. The rhythmic clinking of weights and the soft grunt of exertion filled the space as Daisy sat perched cross-legged on a folded towel near the corner, her chin resting heavily in her hands.

She was supposed to be watching quietly, she told herself. Supporting him while he got through his workout. Behaving.

But every time he flexed his arms lifting those heavy dumbbells, or leaned forward on the bench press with the muscles of his back rippling under his snug t-shirt, Daisy’s restraint started to fray a little more.

Her big blue eyes were locked on him, wide and unblinking, trailing every movement he made. The curls of her blonde hair bounced around her face as she shifted in place, her whole body vibrating with barely-contained energy.

It wasn't fair. He was so focused, so serious — sweat beading along his forehead, the veins in his arms popping in ways that made her heart race. She bit her lower lip hard, squeezing the sides of the towel she sat on, trying to keep herself from doing what her body was screaming at her to do: run over, throw her arms around him, and demand his attention.

She knew he needed to focus, that this was his me time — he had told her that before he started. But sitting there, feeling invisible while he grunted and strained and made her stomach flutter with every controlled movement, was absolute torture.

Her toes curled against the cool concrete floor. Her face flushed pink. She whimpered under her breath — too soft for him to notice — and hugged her knees against her chest.

"Maybe just a little pounce wouldn't hurt..." she thought mischievously, her fingers twitching against the towel. She was practically trembling with the effort of staying put.

But for now, Daisy stayed on her little towel island, rocking slightly back and forth like a tightly wound spring, hoping he would finish soon... or at least notice the desperate way she was staring at him.

It was only a matter of time before she lost control.

The soft thunk of the car hood popping open echoed through the driveway as Daisy stood just outside the garage door, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, a dramatic pout blooming on her face. She wore one of his oversized sweatshirts, the sleeves almost swallowing her hands, and her bare feet padded quietly across the cool concrete as she approached him.

It had already been a long day. He had come home from work, given her the briefest hug — no proper cuddles, no time to melt into him the way she needed — and then, instead of flopping down on the couch with her like he should have, he'd grabbed his tool kit and headed straight for the garage to "fix something real quick."

That had been almost an hour ago.

Daisy trudged closer, her lower lip pushed out in an exaggerated sulk as she watched him lean over the engine, his hands deftly working with wrenches and bolts. He looked so rugged like this, focused and sweaty from the lingering heat of the day, but Daisy barely noticed through the haze of her growing irritation.

She huffed loudly, making sure he heard it. No reaction.

"Baaaaby," she whined, dragging out the word pitifully as she stepped right up to the car, peeking around the hood to catch his eye. "You said we'd cuddle when you got home..." Her voice was soft, pleading, edged with frustration. "You’ve been out here forever..."

He let out a low chuckle without looking up, tightening a bolt. "Almost done, sweetheart," he said, in that easygoing voice that somehow made her both melt and want to stomp her foot.

Daisy squished her face against the side of the car, trying to wedge herself into his line of sight. "You always say that," she mumbled, puffing her cheeks. "You love that stupid car more than me."

That got a smirk out of him. He leaned back, wiping grease-streaked hands on a rag. "Not true," he teased, finally glancing over at her. "The car doesn't pout like you do."

"That's because it doesn't need kisses and cuddles to survive!" Daisy snapped back dramatically, stomping her foot once for emphasis. "I’m gonna wither away if you leave me all lonely on the couch again!"

He laughed — really laughed — that warm, rich sound she loved so much, and Daisy's pout faltered for just a second. Even when she was mad, she couldn’t stay mad for long when he looked at her like that. Still, she stayed rooted to the spot, hugging herself tighter, silently demanding he put his tools down and scoop her up where she belonged: in his arms.

It was only a matter of minutes now. Daisy knew it. She was stubborn — but he was weaker when it came to her sulking.

Victory was close. She just had to pout a little harder.

The park was quiet that afternoon, bathed in the soft golden light of late sunshine. Families were packing up picnics, and the sound of distant laughter mixed with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Daisy was sitting on a wooden bench, swinging her legs and stealing glances at her boyfriend, who was tossing a ball idly between his hands, waiting for her to finish sipping her lemonade.

But Daisy wasn’t paying attention to the drink anymore.

Her mind was spinning — bubbling with a mischievous idea that made her cheeks glow pink and a giggle bubble up in her throat. She hugged the cup closer to her face to hide her smirk, peeking at him over the rim with sparkling, not-so-innocent eyes.

He looked so good today, too — relaxed, a little flushed from the walk, his shirt slightly rumpled in that way she loved. It wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to behave herself when he was right there, completely unaware of how dangerous he looked?

Biting her lip, Daisy slid off the bench and padded over to him, her sneakers crunching softly on the gravel path. She looped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek against his back and squeezing him gently.

"Baby," she said in her softest, most syrupy voice, "don't you think the park is kind of... empty right now?" Her fingers traced lazy little circles on his stomach, her tone unmistakably playful. "We could... I dunno... have a little fun before anyone notices?" she whispered, giggling against his back.

He stiffened slightly, caught somewhere between amusement and alarm. "Daisy," he said, voice low, "you're gonna get us arrested."

She giggled again, impossibly pleased with herself, and peeked up at him with wide, teasing blue eyes. "Only if we get caught," she chirped, grinning innocently — though the sparkle in her eyes said she wasn’t nearly as innocent as she pretended to be.

He turned around, catching her by the waist, shaking his head with an exasperated smile that he could never really hide when it came to her. "You're trouble," he said, tugging her closer.

"Your favorite kind," Daisy whispered sweetly, nuzzling against him, already knowing she'd won.

The bathroom was filled with a heavy, expectant silence, broken only by the faint hum of the old ceiling fan spinning overhead. Daisy sat quietly on the closed lid of the toilet, her knees tucked together, the oversized sleeves of her sweatshirt drooping over her trembling hands.

In those hands, she clutched a small, thin plastic stick — a pregnancy test — the tiny screen unmistakably showing two bold pink lines.

Positive.

Daisy stared down at it, her wide blue eyes blinking slowly as if maybe, if she just waited long enough, the result might change. But it didn't. It stayed exactly the same, as certain and solid as the steady pounding of her heart against her ribs.

Two days ago, she and her boyfriend had gotten a little carried away in the park. She had giggled about it at the time — thinking it was a wild, silly memory they'd tease each other about for weeks. She had never expected... this.

Her breath hitched softly, and she pressed the sleeve of her sweatshirt to her mouth to keep from making a sound. She didn’t know if she was supposed to be scared or happy or both at once. Her emotions swirled around her like a storm, making it hard to even sit still.

Part of her was terrified. Another part... a deeper, softer part... already loved whatever tiny life was now growing inside her.

"What am I gonna tell him...?" she whispered into her sleeve, her voice barely audible. Would he be upset? Would he think she had planned it? Would he even want this with her?

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she wasn’t even sure if they were sad tears. She pressed a hand gently to her flat stomach, swallowing hard. She knew one thing for sure — she couldn’t hide this from him for long. And if he looked at her the way he always did, if he held her the way he always did, she wasn't sure she’d even want to hide it.

Not anymore.

For now, Daisy just sat there on the toilet, cradling the test in her shaking hands, gathering the courage to step out of the bathroom — and into whatever came next.

The cozy living room was filled with the soft flicker of a Disney movie playing on the TV, but Daisy and Lily weren't paying it any attention.

Instead, they were both sitting cross-legged on the carpet, facing each other in a very serious standoff, the tension broken only by Lily’s determined frown and Daisy’s barely contained giggles.

"Mommyyyyy," Lily whined, her small arms crossed firmly over her chest, "you always get Daddy first! It's my turn!"

Daisy gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if wounded. "That's not true!" she protested, pouting. "I share him!"

"You hog him!" Lily insisted, stamping a tiny foot against the carpet. "*When he comes home, you get the first hug and the first kiss, and I have to wait forever!"

"It's because I'm his first love," Daisy teased, leaning forward with a playful smirk. "He loved me before you even got here!"

"Nuh-uh!" Lily shot back instantly, eyes wide and fierce. "Daddy says he loves me the most because I'm his princess!"

Daisy gasped again, scandalized. "He said that?" she demanded, crawling closer on her hands and knees.

Lily nodded triumphantly, her blonde curls bouncing. "Yup! And he said I’m the boss when you’re not around!"

"Traitor," Daisy whispered under her breath, making a big show of sulking as she flopped dramatically onto the couch. "Betrayed by my own husband and daughter!"

Lily giggled uncontrollably and scrambled up onto the couch beside her, tugging at Daisy’s sleeve until she peeked out from under it with a mock glare.

"Tell you what," Daisy said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "how about we share Daddy? You can have his left arm, and I'll have his right arm. And maybe—" she lowered her voice even further, "—maybe if we ask really nicely, he’ll cuddle us both at the same time."

Lily thought about it for a long, serious second, then gave a very dignified nod, like she was negotiating an important peace treaty. "Okay. But I get the first kiss next time!"

"Deal," Daisy agreed solemnly, reaching out to pinky swear.

As they sealed the pact with giggles and a pinky shake, the front door clicked open — and there he was, stepping inside, looking tired but lighting up the second he saw them.

Both Daisy and Lily scrambled off the couch at the same time, racing toward him with shrieks of "Daddyyyy!" and "Honey!", bumping into each other as they both reached for the first hug — their earlier argument forgotten in a blur of laughter and love.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the small, too-bright principal’s office. Lily sat in one of the stiff chairs, her little legs swinging back and forth, a slight pout on her lips and a faint red mark on her knuckles. She wasn’t crying — if anything, she looked proud of herself, like a tiny, stubborn warrior waiting for her next command.

Across from her, the principal — a balding man with round glasses — shuffled some papers, clearly uncomfortable. "Mrs. and Mr. [Surname]," he said nervously, glancing up as Daisy and her husband hurried into the room, "thank you for coming on such short notice."

Daisy didn't even wait for him to finish. She rushed straight to Lily, crouching down in front of her and running her hands over her daughter’s arms and face, checking for bruises. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?" Daisy asked, her voice gentle but filled with a firestorm bubbling just under the surface.

"I'm fine, Mommy," Lily said sweetly, completely unbothered. "I punched him first."

The principal cleared his throat awkwardly. "Lily got into an altercation with another student," he said, shooting a nervous glance at Daisy’s husband. "Apparently, the boy claimed that his father could...uh...beat up Mr. [Surname]. Lily took offense and—"

"—and she defended her family’s honor," Daisy interrupted, straightening up with her arms crossed, her voice sharp and full of pride. "Good girl."

Her husband groaned quietly under his breath, already sensing where this was heading. "Daisy," he murmured warningly, reaching out to gently grab her arm.

"What?" Daisy snapped, her cheeks flushing. "I mean, what else was she supposed to do? Let some little punk talk bad about her daddy?" She glared down at the principal, then whirled around, eyes blazing. "Where is this kid anyway?" she demanded. "I’ll give him a piece of my mind too!"

"Daisy," her husband hissed again, tugging her back toward him before she could storm out of the office. "You can't fight a six-year-old."

"I’m just gonna talk to him," Daisy said through gritted teeth, even as she tried to shrug him off. "With my hands."

Lily watched the whole exchange with a mixture of amusement and admiration, practically glowing at how much her mom was defending her.

"Mrs. [Surname]," the principal said hastily, "I understand emotions are high, but violence is not encouraged—"

"Oh, please," Daisy cut in, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. "You expect my daughter to sit there and let someone trash talk her family? Not happening. She did what any decent person would do."

Her husband sighed heavily, finally wrapping his arms around Daisy from behind and holding her in place. "Honey, let's just take Lily home," he murmured in her ear. "You can teach her ninja moves later."

Daisy huffed but allowed herself to be steered toward the door, one arm still stretched dramatically toward Lily as if demanding one last high five for her bravery. Lily beamed proudly, slipping her little hand into her mother’s as they left the office — a team, unstoppable, and fiercely loyal to the very end.