Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, It was still really early, but none of us had slept again. I sat at the kitchen table with Teddy beside me, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea I wasn't drinking. The warmth seeped into my fingers, but not into my chest. I felt hollow, stretched thin, as though even the steam rising from the mug was more solid than I was.
Mum busied herself at the stove though nobody was hungry, the clatter of pans and hiss of the kettle seemed louder than usual. Dad sat at the far end of the table, newspaper folded but unread, his jaw tight. None of us spoke much — words felt brittle, like they'd shatter the uneasy quiet if we tried.
Then came the knock.
It was firm, deliberate. Not like a neighbour calling in, not confident like the police the night before. My stomach lurched. Teddy's hand found mine under the table, a small squeeze of reassurance, but I still froze.
Dad rose, his chair scraping back across the floor. He opened the door, and Freddie Cooper appeared in the doorway.
Broad-shouldered, well dressed, his presence always seemed to fill the space before he said a word. His trousers were sharply pressed, his shirt buttoned all the way up despite the warmth of summer. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, looked hollow this morning. Dark circles of sleeplessness darkened the skin beneath them.
"Ben," he said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual authority. "May I come in?"
Dad held the door for a long moment before nodding curtly and stepping aside to let him in.
Freddie stepped inside, and the air seemed to thicken around him. Mum stopped her clattering in the kitchen, her shoulders stiff. Teddy leaned subtly closer to me, his hand still holding mine, as though making himself a wall between me and the man who carried Harry's name.
Freddie didn't look at me at first. Instead, he looked to Dad. "The police arrested my boy last night—" His voice broke, uncharacteristically rough. He stopped and cleared his throat. "Harry's done something I can't defend. Not now. Not ever."
Dad's arms folded across his chest. His voice was sharp, like a blade. "It's a good thing Teddy got there when he did and pulled him off her, or God knows how far he would have gone. You want me to feel sorry for him? You want me to see him as just a boy who made a mistake? He's a monster."
Freddie flinched, as if struck. His broad hands smoothed down the line of his trousers, a nervous gesture. Then his gaze lifted — and landed on me.
The weight of it made my throat close. His eyes were glassy, unreadable, but full of something sharp — shame, maybe, or grief. I gripped Teddy's hand harder beneath the table, my knuckles aching.
Freddie crouched down, lowering himself until he was level with me. For such a large man, the movement seemed almost reverent. His voice dropped, quiet, deliberate.
"Emma," he said, my name sounded so strange coming from him. "I am so… so sorry, again. For what Harry did. For what you've had to endure because of him. If there is anything you need, anything at all, just let me know. Your dad has my number."
The kitchen swam around me. I wanted to shrink into the chair, to disappear. Part of me recoiled from him — from the resemblance in his jawline to Harry's, from the thought that this man had raised the boy who dragged me into that alley. And yet, another part of me heard the sincerity in his tone, saw the rawness in his face. It unsettled me more than if he'd come in angry, defensive, ready to accuse.
Dad's voice cut through the silence. "She needs justice Freddie. She needs to feel safe again."
Freddie's head bowed slightly. "You're right. I agree with you." He glanced up at me again, his expression softer this time, almost pleading. "I can't undo what he's done. But I'll see to it he faces the consequences. You have my word on that too."
I still couldn't speak. My lips felt glued shut. The only sound I made was the shallow catch of my breath, which Teddy must have heard, because his hand clutched mine tighter, stronger now, anchoring me.
Freddie stood slowly, straightening his broad frame. He looked older somehow than he had yesterday, as though the weight of Harry's actions had settled across his shoulders overnight.
"I'll leave you in peace," he said quietly. "But I'll come back soon, to check on her. To make sure she's… alright." His voice faltered again on the last word.
Dad gave a stiff nod but didn't speak.
Freddie turned and left, Dad shut the door gently and wiped his hand down his face. Mum let out a slow breath.
Teddy shifted closer, his hand still in mine, his voice pitched only for me. "Don't let him get in your head, Em. Whatever he says, whatever he does — he's still Harry's father. Just remember that."
I nodded faintly, though my chest still ached with confusion. I hadn't expected remorse. I hadn't expected comfort, however fleeting, from a man whose very presence had always intimidated me. Yet the echo of his words lingered.
I am so sorry. You have my word.
The words didn't erase the fear, the humiliation, the shaking that lived in my bones. But they sat there in the quiet of my mind, stirring something complicated — the faintest thread of comfort, knotted tight with unease.
And so I leaned harder against Teddy, letting him be my shield, the one constant in a morning that felt anything but steady.
Mum was the first to break the silence after Freddie's footsteps faded. She set her tea towel down on the counter with a sharp flick.
"Ben," she said gently, but firmly, "you've taken enough time off work. We can't both sit here staring at Emma all day. I'll take care of her."
Dad turned, his brows drawing together. "I don't want to leave her, Mandy. Not now. Not after —"
"I know," Mum cut in, her voice softening. "But you can't hover over her every minute. She needs to feel like life isn't stopping because of this. I'll be here. Teddy's here too. You go. We'll manage."
"I'm not going anywhere," Teddy said at once, his hand still clasping mine tightly. His voice had that stubborn edge I'd heard only a few times before. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until Emma says I can. She's not going to be left on her own, not for a second."
The determination in his tone made my throat tighten. He meant it, every word.
Dad looked from Mum to Teddy, then finally down at me. His eyes searched mine, full of worry, of reluctance, of a love so heavy it hurt to see.
"Em," he murmured, crouching slightly so he was closer to my level. "What do you think? Do you want me here, or… will you be alright if I go?"
The truth was, I didn't know. I wanted him here, safe and steady, but I also saw the lines of strain on his face, the way his shoulders hunched under the weight of everything. Slowly, hesitantly, I nodded.
"I'll be all right," I whispered. My voice cracked, but the words came.
Dad's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He bent down and pulled me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. The smell of his aftershave and the faint scent of engine oil from his hands — familiar, grounding — filled me with a sudden wave of warmth.
He kissed the top of my head, lingering there for a long moment. "I'll be back before you know it," he said quietly. "And you call me at work if you need me. For anything. You hear?"
I nodded again against his chest.
When he finally let go and straightened, there was a heaviness in his step as he collected his jacket and keys. He paused at the door, giving us all one last look — Mum steady, Teddy unyielding, me small and uncertain at the kitchen table — before he squared his shoulders and left for work.
Mum moved back to the stove, her movements quieter now, more deliberate. Teddy stayed close, his arm going around my shoulders again, a silent vow that he wasn't going anywhere.
And me? I could still feel Dad's goodbye kiss on my head, wishing life could really go on as normal. But the truth was, nothing felt normal anymore.