“You’re not taking her.” He sounds exhausted with the mere idea, and it only drives his wife further into her rage. “What?” Cassandra stands cursing broken glass under her heel. “Are you going to use your little lawyer against me?” Her laughter is bitter, and her voice makes sure everyone in the building bares witness to her ire. “Do you really think her mouth is that talented outside of your chambers?” “That’s not necessary.” He dismissed, Henry had this way of talking through a storm. Nothing seemed to unsettle him about this situation because he knew how it would play out. “You had a choice, to be gracious, and wait this out until you were able to leave with the same level dignity and fondness I had for you had when we entered this marriage.” Henry speaks as if his word is law, each letter marking itself in solid black ink on the narrative of their lives. And Cassandra could only watch in shock as he spoke with such fluidity. Unbothered by the destruction he’d caused all around him. “I would have let you see Daphne twice a month, on a schedule of my choosing.” He makes the offer sound like a gift, and doesn’t stop talking despite his wife’s screaming objection. “Honestly Cassandra, what kind of father would I be if I let her live with you and stood by as she was poisoned against me?” He asked as she continued to scream. “She’s my daughter, Henry!” The shared the same fair hair and tender heart, it’s true. But Henry seemed almost surprised at her boldness. She’s Daphne Greengrass, he thought. She may have shared your body for nine months, but she will bare my name for years. “Stop talking, Cassandra.” Henry commanded his speech only paused for a moment before continuing alone just as he’d rehearsed. “Instead you’ve thrown tantrums, insulted my new bride and made a fool of me infront of our friends. So now you have another choice. Daphne will stay with me, you will not see or speak to her. But you get to decide what I tell my daughter.” He stepped forward looming over his wife as silence force of nature. “That her mother loved her but had to move away, or that her mother loved her until the day she passed away.”
Daphne walks like she’s on a mission, the silent hallway only filled by her steps as she makes her way to her father’s study. The room in which all great discussions seem to take to place in this manor, despite the large amount of options. She passes her step-mother without a word, her vision tunneled onto the familiar door and she almost opens it. Until she remembers herself, smoothing out her dress and knocking with three knuckles in a similar fashion to the man lurking inside. Henry used to the back of his hand, but it always felt unnatural to twist her wrist to knock on a door. Still she had tried for years to build a tolerance, until he told her that knocking was the least of her worries.
“Father.” She announced as she entered the room, greeting him warmly as he turned his head to take her in. “You look pale.” Henry glanced over her, taking her in observantly as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Is the work load more taxing then you originally planned for? Should I have a chat with your department head?” “No,” Daphne smiled, concern and criticism had grown to sound so much alike in her head that she just chooses which one he means most of the time. “I can handle it.” She slide into one of the empty chairs, urging him to sit down with her. “In fact, I would love to see what you thought about some of it.” Daphne knew it was wrong, knew she wasn’t suppose to show anyone any of her notes or even whisper about her work in any way. But he was her father, and this was damage control.
