Chapter 19

Finnegan’s POV

Another afternoon, I'd been examining an overpriced bottle of perfume—the kind my mother pretends not to want but somehow always manages to mention whenever we speak—when the commotion caught my attention.

The cosmetics department was already chaotic, packed with people taking advantage of the annual sale, but this was different. A flash of movement, lower than the rest. A glimpse of what looked like a private school uniform.

At first, I dismissed it. The shopping center always attracted an eclectic crowd, especially during sales. But then I saw her again—a little girl, no more than five or six, weaving through the forest of adults' legs like she was on a mission. Something about her determined expression tugged at me, reminding me of another stubborn soul I knew all too well.

The crowd surged suddenly, that typical mid-afternoon shopping frenzy when everyone decides they need to be somewhere else immediately. I watched in horror as the little girl got caught in the crush, stumbling backward. Without thinking, I moved.

My hands caught her shoulders just as she was about to fall, steadying her with the same precision I used in the operating room. She looked up at me with wide, startled eyes—eyes that sparked something in my memory I couldn't quite place.

"Are you alright?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle. It was the same tone I used with pediatric patients, though something about this child made it feel more natural than usual.

She blinked, then broke into a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the entire cosmetics department. "Yes! Thank you, doctor!"

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "How did you know I'm a doctor?"

She giggled, pointing at my hands. "You have doctor hands! Just like my mommy. She's a doctor too, and she always catches me like that when I fall."

Something warm and unfamiliar stirred in my chest. "Is that so? And where is your mommy now?"

Her expression turned slightly guilty. "At work. She's always at work. That's why I came to buy her a present! To make her happy!"

I found myself crouching down to her level, forgetting about my perfectly pressed suit pants against the department store floor. "By yourself? That's quite an adventure for someone so small."

"I'm not small!" She protested, drawing herself up to her full height—which, admittedly, barely reached my waist. "I'm five and a half! And I know exactly what to get her. She always uses this special cream that makes her look less tired after surgery."

Surgery. Something flashed through my mind. "Your mother is a surgeon?"

"The best one ever! She fixes people's heads and makes them all better." Her face lit up with pride. "I'm going to be just like her when I grow up. Except maybe not so busy all the time."

The way she said it—such innocent honesty—hit me harder than I expected. "It must be hard, having such a busy mom."

She shrugged, a gesture so adult-like it was almost comical on her tiny frame. "It's okay. Uncle James says it's because she's helping people. And Daddy is busy too, saving the moon!"

I blinked. "Saving the... moon?"

"Yes!" She nodded enthusiastically. "He's a superhero, you know. That's why he can't be here right now. He's making sure the moon doesn't fall down!"

Something twisted in my chest. A child's way of understanding absence, of making sense of an empty space where a father should be. I found myself wondering about this mysterious father, this man whose absence this little girl had transformed into a heroic mission.

"That's quite a story," I said carefully. "But maybe we should focus on your mother's present? It's not safe for you to shop alone, even for superheroes' daughters."

She beamed at me. "Will you help me pick? You have doctor hands like Mommy, so you must know what's good!"

I should have said no. Should have found a store employee or security guard to help locate her guardians. Instead, I found myself nodding. "Alright, show me what your mother likes."

She grabbed my hand without hesitation, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine with complete trust, and started pulling me toward a counter. The contact sent an odd jolt through me—something primitive and protective that I couldn't quite understand.

"This one!" She pointed excitedly at a cream I recognized all too well. It was the same brand Ophelia used to... I froze.

Looking down at the little girl—really looking at her for the first time—I noticed details I'd somehow missed before. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her smile, the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined the products. All eerily familiar.

"What's your name?" I asked, though something in me already knew—or feared—the answer.

"Ivy!" She announced proudly. "Like the flower that grows on walls. Mommy says it's special because it's strong and beautiful."

"And your mommy," I said, "what's her name?"

But before Ivy could answer, her stomach growled loudly, making her giggle and breaking the tension I hadn't realized was building.

"Sorry," she said, looking sheepish. "I missed snack time at school."

I didn’t inquire further. "How about we make a deal? Let me buy your mother's present, and then we'll get you something to eat. You can tell me more about your superhero father over cookies."

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"Anything you want," I heard myself say, and meant it with an intensity that surprised me.

As we made our way to the register, Ivy's small hand still trustingly in mine, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly it fit. Like a piece of a puzzle I hadn't even known was missing suddenly clicking into place.

"Doctor?" Her voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"You're really nice. Like a prince from Mommy's stories." She looked up at me with those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes. "Maybe when you're not helping my mommy pick presents, you could help my daddy protect the moon too?"

"Maybe I could," I chuckled.