Chapter 3

The scent of fried noodles filled the kitchen as Raymond set the takeaway containers on the table. Susie bounced in her chair, eager to dig in. Usually, he made an effort to cook when their housekeeper wasn’t around, but tonight, he felt too unsettled to go through the motions.

Not that Susie minded. “Ooh, dumplings!” she cheered, grabbing one with her fingers before he could protest. Raymond shook his head, amused. “Chopsticks, kiddo.”

She grinned, reaching for them with the confidence of someone who had almost mastered the art. They ate in companionable chatter—Susie talking about school, her favourite parts of the day, and a particularly dramatic moment when a classmate dropped an entire lunch tray.

Raymond listened, nodding at the right moments, but his mind kept drifting. Not to work. Not even to the case he had lined up for the next morning. But to something far more unexpected. That moment outside his door. That brief, feather-light kiss Susie had given Isobel. And then, the look on Isobel’s face. He didn’t know what to make of it.

After dinner, they moved to the living room. It was their usual routine—some quiet time together, away from screens and distractions. Susie curled up beside him on the couch, legs tucked beneath her as he read aloud from “Charlotte’s Web”.

He read smoothly, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He glanced down at his daughter. She was so small, so open-hearted. And so incredibly perceptive. When they reached the end of the chapter, he closed the book but didn’t set it aside just yet. He hesitated, then took a breath.

“Susie,” he said carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, resting her chin on her knees.

“About this morning,” he said. “When you ... when you kissed Miss Scowan.” He forced himself to keep his voice even. “What made you do that?”

Susie tilted her head. “I dunno. I just wanted to.”

He waited. She was thinking. He could tell by the way she traced small patterns on the couch with her finger. “She was nice to Bunny,” she said finally. “She made sure he got home safe.”

Raymond nodded. “That’s true.”

Susie fidgeted. “And ... I think she’s lonely.”

That made him pause. “Lonely?”

Susie gave a small shrug. “She doesn’t have anyone. Not like us.”

Raymond swallowed. “How do you know that?”

“She just looked like she needed someone to love her,” Susie said simply. “And she needed Bunny. Grown-ups don’t need stuffed animals unless they’re sad.”

Raymond exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. He had no idea what to say to that. Because—damn it—Susie had a point.

The idea of Isobel Scowan being lonely had never occurred to him. He’d always seen her as sharp, unflinching, constantly ready for battle. But now, something niggled at the back of his mind. What did she go home to? Was it just a quiet, empty apartment? A place where no-one greeted her, where no small voice filled the silence with stories about school? Something tightened in his chest.

Susie yawned, resting her head against his arm. He kissed the top of her head, tucking a blanket around her.

“Time for bed, sweetheart.”

She nodded sleepily and let him carry her upstairs. But even after she was tucked in, he lingered in the doorway, deep in thought.

... .

Across town, Isobel pushed her barely-touched dinner aside and leaned back in her chair. The apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. She had always liked it this way—quiet, predictable. But tonight, the silence felt heavier than usual. She didn’t know why she felt off. Or rather—she refused to analyse why.

She had spent her entire life keeping things under control, compartmentalizing emotions that weren’t useful. But tonight, for some reason, she couldn’t keep everything buried as neatly as usual.

And then, completely unbidden, tears pricked at her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her temples, cursing herself. She hadn’t cried in years. Not over things that mattered. But now, the emotions came without permission. It wasn’t about Raymond Penny, or even about Susie. It was about something deeper. Something old.

Her father’s voice echoed in her memory—disapproving, distant. She had spent so much of her life trying to be strong, trying to prove something, trying to earn his love? But what had it gotten her? A quiet apartment. A lonely dinner table. A little girl feeling sorry for her.

She clenched her jaw, blinking the tears away before they could fall. She was fine. She had always been fine. And yet — She wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. A stuffed rabbit was a poor substitute for a fractured relationship with a distant father.

... .

For the rest of the week, Raymond and Isobel barely crossed paths. No court battles. No sharp exchanges. Just the occasional glimpse in the corridors of the courthouse or across the street near their offices.

Yet, despite the absence of direct confrontation, neither could quite shake the other from their thoughts. Raymond found himself unusually distracted, his mind drifting mid-conversation or while reviewing case files. More than once, James had caught him staring out the window with a look of uncharacteristic contemplation.

“You okay, mate?” he asked on Thursday afternoon, plopping down into the chair across from Raymond’s desk.

Raymond snapped out of his daze. “Yeah. Why?”

James smirked. “Because that’s the third time I’ve said your name, and I’m starting to think you’re mentally composing a love letter to someone.”

Raymond scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

James shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so.”

In her office, Isobel was dealing with her own battle of distractions. She buried herself in paperwork, determined to drown out the unsettling feelings that had been lingering since Monday morning. But no amount of case preparation or legal documents could erase the uncomfortable truth: she was still thinking about Raymond Penny. And Susie. And, most disturbingly, herself. She hated uncertainty. She hated waiting. And most of all, she hated this strange limbo she’d found herself in.

By Thursday evening, she’d had enough. Sitting at her kitchen table, nursing a glass of wine, she forced herself to face the truth. Something had changed.

What, exactly, she wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t just sit in this no-man’s-land, pretending things were the same as they had always been. Because they weren’t. She exhaled sharply, staring at the deep red swirl in her glass.