Rain falls steadily on the luxurious glass roof of the billionaire’s Surrey estate. Inside, Julian Whitmore stands by the fireplace sipping black coffee and watching the flames. He’s accustomed to silence—it follows him even in this grand house. Success brought wealth, but not peace. A loud knock echoes through the hallway. Julian frowns. He expects no one. His staff have the day off, and visitors are uncommon. He sets down his cup and walks to the front door, opening it. There stands a woman, soaked to the bone, holding a child no older than two. Her clothes are threadbare, her eyes hollow with exhaustion. The little girl clings to her jumper, quiet but curious.
“Pardon the disturbance, sir,” the woman says in a trembling voice. “I… haven’t eaten for two days. I’ll clean your house—just some food for my daughter and me.” Julian freezes. His heart stops—not from pity, but shock. “Imogen?” he whispers. The woman looks up, her lips parting in disbelief. “Julian?”
Time folds in on itself. Seven years ago, she vanished without warning. Without goodbye. Simply vanished from his life. Julian steps back, dazed. The last time he saw Imogen Bennett, she wore a summer dress barefoot in his garden, laughing as if the world caused no pain. Now… she’s clad in rags. His chest tightens. “Where have you been?” “I didn’t come for a reunion,” she says brokenly. “Just food. Please. We’ll leave straightaway.” He looks at the girl. Blonde curls. Blue eyes. Her mother’s eyes. His voice cracks. “Is she… mine?” Imogen doesn’t answer. Only looks away. Julian moves aside. “Come in.”
Inside the mansion, warmth envelops them. Imogen stands awkwardly on polished marble, rainwater dripping, while Julian signals the cook to bring food. “You still keep staff?” she asks quietly. “Naturally. I’ve everything,” Julian replies, an edge in his tone. “Except answers.” The girl takes a bowl of strawberries from the table, eyeing him shyly. “Thank you,” she murmurs. He manages a faint smile. “What’s her name?” “Daisy,” Imogen whispers. The name hits him like a punch. Daisy was the name they once chose for a future daughter. When everything was good. Before everything broke. Julian sits slowly. “Start talking. Why did you leave?”
Imogen hesitates. Then sits opposite him, shielding Daisy protectively. “I learned I was pregnant the week your company went public,” she says. “You worked twenty-hour days, barely slept. I didn’t want to burden you.” “That was my choice,” Julian snaps. “I know,” she whispers, blinking. “Then… they diagnosed me with cancer.” Julian’s heart sinks. “Stage two. Doctors weren’t certain I’d survive. I couldn’t let you choose between your firm and a dying girlfriend. I left. Had her alone. Went through chemotherapy alone. And survived.” He’s speechless. Anger and sorrow whirl inside him. “You didn’t trust me to help?” he finally asks. Imogen’s eyes well up. “I didn’t trust myself to live.”
Daisy tugs her mother’s sleeve. “Mummy, sleepy.” Julian kneels before her. “Want a warm bed?” The girl nods. He turns to Imogen. “You’re not leaving tonight. I’ll prepare the guest suite.” “I can’t stay here,” she protests quickly. “You can. And will,” he states firmly. “You’re not just anyone. You’re my daughter’s mother.” She freezes. “So you believe she’s yours?” Julian stands. “No proof needed. I see it.”
That night, after Daisy’s asleep upstairs, Julian stands on the balcony watching the storm-lit sky. Imogen joins him, draped in a robe a maid lent her. “I never meant to wreck your life,” she says. “You didn’t,” he replies. “You simply erased yourself from mine.” Silence stretches between them. “I’m not begging anything,” Imogen whispers. “Only desperate.” Julian faces her. “You were the only woman I loved. You left without letting me fight.” Tears track down her face. “I still love you,” she murmurs. “Even if you hate me.” He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gazes toward the window where Daisy sleeps safe and warm. At last he speaks: “Stay. At least until we learn what comes next.”
Morning sun breaks through grey clouds, washing Julian’s estate in soft gold. For the first time in years, emptiness lifts. Downstairs, Julian stands by the cooker—an odd sight in his own home—scrambling eggs. Butter and toast fill the kitchen. Light footsteps sound behind him. Imogen stands in the doorway holding Daisy’s small hand. The girl now wears tidy pyjamas, her hair neatly curled. “Cooking now?” Imogen offers a faint smile. “Trying,” Julian says, setting a plate before Daisy. “For her.” Daisy climbs onto a chair and eats hungrily. “She likes you,” Imogen observes softly, sitting on the counter edge. Julian watches her. “Easy when someone gives you food.”
They settle into an odd, quiet rhythm over the next days. Imogen speaks little, uncertain whether this is real or temporary. Julian studies her closely—each movement, each glance at Daisy—as if reclaiming lost time. Yet not everyone welcomes it. One afternoon, Julian’s assistant Charlotte waits by the door, arms crossed. “Now you’ve a woman and child living here?” she asks. Julian sighs. “Yes. That’s Imogen and her daughter.” “Your daughter?” He nods. Charlotte falters. “You’re not discreet. The board’s asking questions.” “Let them,” Julian says coldly. “I owe no explanations about my family.” The word “family” feels strange on his tongue—
That autumn afternoon in the dappled light of a London church, with crisp leaves swirling down the street outside and Lila holding crisp autumn leaves as a flower girl, Julian whispered “I do” as William, his brother now his best man, smiled beside him, where Emily’s hand felt finally and completely home in his, as forever started.