Poppy Whitaker adored Harry Clarke with a ferocity that made her forgive almost anything.
They wed when Poppy was barely out of girlhood, just as she turned nineteen. She had chased Harry since she was sixteen, even trying to look older than she was. At first he barely noticed hershe was just a small, insignificant girl in his eyes. As she grew into a striking beauty, Harry decided why pass up something that seemed to drift right into his grasp.
Harry was twentyfour; Poppy was only eighteen. Their relationship beganodd, twisted, and wrong in so many ways.
Harry would vanish for days, ignoring calls and messages, strolling aimlessly somewhere. Then he would return as if nothing had happened, and Poppy would always be there, waiting, tears streaming down her face. He kept telling her he loved only her, but his nature was wild and untamed, never satisfied.
Poppy clung to the hope that someday he would change, that he would love her as fiercely as she loved him.
Tom Bennett had been Poppys friend since nursery. They grew up on the same block, attended the same school. Tom loved Poppy in secret, though he knew she saw him only as a mate. It pained him to watch her undervalue herself, not realizing she deserved the very best.
Tom understood that if Poppy ever returned his feelings, he would move mountains for her. But he also knew that would never happen; she was hopelessly attached to Harry, as if he had cast a spell on her. So Tom kept his distance, lingering in the shadows.
When Harry disappeared again or started another baseless argument, Poppy would break down to Tom.
Why does he treat me like this? I love him so much she sobbed.
Maybe you should stop loving him, Tom snapped, his voice tightening with anger.
I cant, you dont understand she pleaded.
Tom understood perfectly. He, too, could give up his love for Poppy, but he couldnt bring himself to. He accepted her pain without argument.
Harry grew increasingly erratic. He drank heavily, flirted openly with other women. In a desperate, foolish act of love, Poppy decided to become pregnant, naïvely believing a child would fix everythingthat Harry would mature, that hed finally cherish her and love his baby.
At nineteen she found out she was expecting and told Harry, but his face showed no joy.
We ought to get married, I suppose, she murmured, embarrassed, before the baby shows.
Probably, Harry replied grimly.
Why Harry finally chose to bind himself in marriage was a mysteryperhaps he thought something might work out, or perhaps he simply didnt know how to walk away.
Poppy became the happiest bride. For Tom, the day was a funeral. He watched her glow with hope and wanted to seize her, lock her away, and make her see that he was far better than Harry. Yet he didnt act on that dark impulse. He pretended to wish her happiness with her new husband while drowning his own sorrows in drink.
Poppy and Harry welcomed a son, Oliver. At first Harry tried to be a decent father and husband, stopped disappearing, spent less time with his mates, helped with the baby, and didnt argue with Poppy.
But soon he realized that domestic life wasnt for him. When Oliver turned one, Harry fell back into his old habits. He vanished for three days, leaving Poppy franticcalling morgues, hospitals, and every friend of Harrys.
Tom was there again, watching over Oliver while Poppy scoured the seedy parts of town searching for her husband. She even filed a police report before Harry finally stumbled back home.
How could you just walk away? Poppy screamed, tears blurring her vision.
I dont owe you any explanations, Harry snapped, sliding into the kitchen. Oliver began to cry, but Harry ignored him, his head throbbing from a hangover.
From that point onward Harry became a phantomcoming and going, each time Poppy clung to a flicker of hope that he might change.
When Oliver turned three, Harry left for good. At first Poppy thought hed simply slipped out again, but after picking Oliver up from nursery she discovered his belongings had vanished from the house.
While she tried to make sense of the emptiness, a message pinged on her phone:
Im filing for divorce. Dont wait for me.
Poppys world shattered. She screamed, unable to imagine life without him. Tom rushed to her side, spending a full day caring for Oliver, making sure she didnt do anything reckless.
When Poppy finally steadied herself, Tom made his move.
So this is it. Ill be your husband now, Olivers dad too.
Poppy looked at her longtime friend, shook her head.
Im sorry, Tom, but I cant love you that way. I love you as a friend and Im grateful for everything youve done, but I dont see you as a husband.
I know, Tom said coldly. But I love you more than a friend, and I wont let you suffer any longer.
He could find no words. Poppy, broken, simply nodded, allowing him to stay.
Tom never pressed his claim. He stayed, tending to Oliver as if he were his own son, never forcing anything. Poppy watched Toms quiet devotion and realized there was no better option. No one else would love her child as Tom did, nor care for her as he did.
She surrenderednot out of love, but out of desperation.
Toms heart swelled when Poppy agreed to marry him. The day Oliver first called him Dad, Tom wept openly.
Life settled into a pictureperfect family, envied by neighbours. Sometimes Tom thought Poppy might love him as more than a friend. Other times, dread gnawed at himwhat if Harry returned? What if Poppy abandoned everything to reunite with her reckless ex?
He lived caught between two flames, rejoicing in happiness yet jolted awake by nightmares.
One such nightmare became reality on Olivers sixth birthday. Poppy and Tom arranged a lavish partybouncy castles, cakes, presents. As Oliver blew out his candles, a knock sounded at the door.
Someone else here to wish you happy birthday? Poppy smiled, moving to answer.
Ill get it, Tom said, opening the door without looking through the peephole. Fear slithered into his chest like a cold vine. Standing on the doorstep was Harry, clutching a strange plush rabbit.
He stared at Tom, snorted.
Still hanging around, eh? Wheres my son? Im here to wish him a happy birthday.
Tom? Poppy shouted from the kitchen, her face paling. Oliver froze, then stared at both men.
Dad, whos that? he asked Tom.
Harrys expression darkened; he hadnt expected this.
Dad, then Oliver whispered.
Tom, get Oliver out of here, Poppy said, her voice dry.
Please, she begged, eyes wide with terror.
The familiar spell of Harrys presence surged, just as Tom had feared. He knew one thing: he would never give Oliver back. He was his father, not some mistake.
Tom kept playing with Oliver, surrounded by gifts. Yet his mind raced, waiting for Poppy to signal that he should leave, fearing what lay beyond the doorway.
Poppy entered, hands trembling, a forced smile on her lips.
How are you all doing? she asked.
Were playing! Oliver shouted. Did Uncle go?
No, he left. We made a wish and didnt even eat the cake!
Right! Oliver screamed, dashing for the kitchen. Tom grabbed Poppys elbow, looking at her.
Whats wrong? she asked, smiling nervously. Lets go before Oliver crushes the cake. Well end up at the dentist otherwise.
Poppy she began.
She embraced Tom, then kissed him.
He wont come back. Oliver doesnt need him; he has a real father now.
And you? Oliver asked, eyes bright.
Me? I only need you.
Tom smiled, took Poppys hand, and led her to the kitchen.
Perhaps the reckless love of her youth never truly faded, perhaps a fragment lingered in Poppys heart. Yet youthful folly gave way to wisdom, and Toms steady love melted the ice around her. Poppy finally felt happiness she had never known, while the wild passion of her past stayed locked in the pastnothing good ever grew from it.
