CRIMSON DEVOTION

Emily slammed the front door shut behind her, her hand trembling as she locked it. She turned toward Molly, who stood in the middle of the living room, still buzzing with the energy of the day's chaos.

"Sit down," Emily said sharply, her voice more commanding than she'd ever heard it.

Molly blinked, startled by the tone, but obeyed, settling onto the edge of the couch.

Emily paced the room, running a hand through her hair as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. But when she turned to look at her daughter, all she could see was the image of Molly laughing in Morgan's arms, completely unaware of the danger.

"What were you thinking, Molly?!" Emily exploded, her voice filled with equal parts fear and anger. "Running to Morgan like that! Do you have any idea how dangerous she is?"

Molly's smile disappeared, her small face crumpling into a frown. "She's not dangerous!" she protested, her voice rising defensively. "Morgan is my friend! She saved me from the bullies at school! They were mean to me every day, and she stopped them!"

Emily's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Molly, listen to me! Morgan isn't your friend. She's—she's dangerous, okay? She's not someone you should trust."

"You don't know her!" Molly yelled, her cheeks flushing with anger. "She told me you wouldn't understand! She's the only one who cares about me!"

"Molly, that's not true—" Emily started, but before she could continue, Pierre stepped into the room, his face stern.

"That's enough," he cut in, his voice firm. He looked at Molly, his expression filled with disappointment. "Your mom's been through enough today without you acting like this. Go to your room and think about what you've done."

Molly's glare turned to him, her eyes blazing with fury. "Shut up!" she screamed, tears welling in her eyes. "You're not my real dad! You just want to steal my mom from me!"

Pierre froze, his mouth slightly open in shock. Emily gasped, her heart breaking at the raw anger in her daughter's voice.

"Molly!" she exclaimed, but the little girl was already running down the hall, her sobs echoing through the house.

Emily followed, reaching the door just as Molly slammed it shut and locked it. "Molly, open this door!" she pleaded, knocking gently. "We need to talk."

"Go away!" Molly's muffled voice shouted from inside. "I don't want to talk to you!"

Emily sighed, pressing her forehead against the door, her heart aching. "Baby, I just want to keep you safe."

But there was no response, only silence.

---

Inside her room, Molly wiped her tears away and reached under her bed, pulling out a small, secret flip phone that Morgan had given her. Her hands shook as she dialed the number, sniffling quietly as the line connected.

"Morgan?" she whispered, her voice small and shaky.

"Molly," Morgan's soothing voice answered, sending a wave of comfort through her. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Molly sniffled again, clutching the phone tightly. "Mommy yelled at me… and Pierre too. They don't understand you. They don't understand us."

Morgan's tone softened, her words like a gentle lullaby. "Oh, my sweet girl. Adults can be so blind sometimes, can't they?"

"Yeah," Molly whispered, her tears starting to dry. "But… you're my best friend. You care about me."

"Of course I do," Morgan said warmly. "And I always will. Now, dry those tears, okay? You're too special to be sad."

"Can you… can you tell me goodnight?" Molly asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of vulnerability and hope.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Morgan's voice came through, soft and full of affection. "Goodnight, Molly. Sweet dreams, my little star."

Molly smiled faintly, her anger and sadness momentarily forgotten. "Goodnight, Morgan."

As the call ended, Molly tucked the phone back under her bed, her heart heavy but comforted by Morgan's words. Little did she know, Morgan's influence was tightening its grip, pulling her further into the shadows.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the quiet tension hanging in the air. Emily sat at the dining table, her face pale and her eyes red and swollen from crying all night. Her sad smile faltered when Molly entered the room, her small frame hesitant as she stopped in the doorway.

"Molly," Emily said softly, her voice trembling with exhaustion. She rose from her chair and walked toward her daughter. "I… I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I was scared, and I let my fear get the better of me. You didn't deserve that."

Molly looked up at her mother, her lips trembling as guilt flickered across her face. She stepped closer, her arms wrapping tightly around Emily's waist. "I'm sorry too, Mommy," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I was just… mad."

Emily knelt to Molly's height, brushing a strand of hair from her face and cupping her cheek. "I know, baby," she murmured, her voice heavy with emotion. "And I know you care about Morgan. But I need you to trust me when I say I'm only trying to keep you safe."

Molly nodded slowly, tears pooling in her eyes. "I'll try, Mommy. I promise."

Emily pulled her daughter into a tight hug, holding her as if she could shield her from all the dangers in the world. "I love you so much, Molly," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"I love you too," Molly replied softly, clinging to her mother like a lifeline.

The tender moment was interrupted by the sound of Pierre clearing his throat as he entered the kitchen, his expression wary. "Good morning," he said, offering a tentative smile.

Molly stiffened in Emily's arms, her soft expression hardening. She stepped back, her face falling into a sullen pout as she turned to the table and plopped into her chair. Without sparing Pierre a glance, she picked up her fork and began poking at her breakfast, her earlier warmth evaporating.

Emily sighed, glancing at Pierre apologetically. She walked over to him, her hand brushing his arm as she leaned in to whisper something. Whatever she said made Pierre's shoulders relax slightly, but his gaze remained on Molly, who was now determinedly focused on her plate.

Pierre stepped forward, attempting to bridge the gap. "Molly, I—"

She rolled her eyes, cutting him off without a word, and shoveled a bite of eggs into her mouth as if he wasn't even there.

Pierre cleared his throat, trying to ease the stillness. He could feel Molly's icy silence and knew he had to do something to fix things, or at least try. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her.

"Molly, I've been thinking," he began, his voice a little too calm, as if testing the waters. "I know things have been... tense, and I want to make it right."

Molly glanced up from her plate, her expression unreadable. She wasn't looking at him directly, but the small shift in her posture told him she was listening.

"I thought it might be nice to do something fun today," Pierre continued, trying to keep his tone light. "So, I've planned a spa day for you and your mom. You know, just a way to relax and... well, make up for the tension between us."

Molly's fork paused mid-air, and she looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her lips parted as if to say something, but she bit her lip, choosing to remain silent for a moment. The offer hung in the air, and Pierre couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe this would be the olive branch he was looking for.

Emily, sensing the shift, smiled warmly. "That sounds lovely, Pierre. Thank you for planning that." She reached over and squeezed his hand, grateful for the effort.

Molly, however, didn't share the same enthusiasm. She rolled her eyes, setting her fork down with a soft clink.

When they got to the mall, Pierre tried talking to Molly, but it looked like the little kid had other plans "Pfft," she scoffed, not even trying to hide her disinterest. "What do you want now?" she asked, her voice sharp and dismissive.

Pierre's smile faltered, but he didn't let it show. "Molly, please, I'm sorry," he said softly, trying to smooth over the situation. "I just want to make things better."

Molly stood up abruptly, her small frame seeming to take up more space as she stood on her tiptoes, scanning the room for her mom. "Look here, brat," Pierre said, his patience beginning to wear thin, but he kept his voice low. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you better sit right before you regret it."

Molly turned her gaze back to him, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "You're the one who's going to regret this..." she said slowly, her grin spreading wickedly. "Dare me?"

Pierre's heart skipped a beat. He'd never seen this side of Molly before—this bold, defiant version. "What has gotten into you?" he asked, his voice a little strained, trying to make sense of the sudden change.

Molly stepped forward, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at him. "Pierre... back off from my mom... and I'll let you go," she said slowly, each word laced with a dangerous tone.

Pierre blinked, taken aback. This wasn't the sweet, innocent girl he was used to. He swallowed hard, his stomach tightening.

Just as the tension threatened to boil over, Emily entered the room with a shopping bag in hand, her face bright with a smile. "Hey guys, I'm back!" she called, unaware of the storm swirling between them.

Molly's gaze snapped to her mother, her face softening for a moment. "Mom, let's go. I don't wanna be here," she said, her voice back to its usual whiny tone.

Emily frowned, sensing the shift but not fully understanding it. "Okay, baby, let's go somewhere else," she said, offering a gentle smile and leading Molly away.

But before they could leave, Molly stopped and turned back to Pierre. "Um, wait, I wanna tell Pierre something," she said, her voice oddly sweet but with an underlying edge.

Emily, thinking things were starting to settle, nodded. "Okay, baby, whatever you want," she said with a warm smile, trusting Molly's judgment. She turned to Pierre, offering him a brief, reassuring glance.

Molly crouched down in front of Pierre, her lips curling into a sickly sweet smile. "Look how fast she forgets you," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she looked him in the eye. "Bye, Pierre."

Pierre's face fell, his mouth opening slightly in shock. Molly's words struck harder than he expected. He thought they were making progress, but it was clear he was mistaken. As Emily smiled at her daughter, oblivious to the tension, Pierre couldn't shake the sinking feeling that things were only getting worse between him and Molly.

.

.

.

.

.

As they entered the house, Pierre couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his chest. The spa day had gone smoothly enough, but Molly's lingering smirks and sharp comments replayed in his mind like a broken record. He waited until the door clicked shut behind them before finally speaking.

"Emily, love, please listen to me…" Pierre began, his voice low but urgent as he followed her into the living room.

Emily didn't stop or turn around, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of a chair. "Not now, Pierre. I'm tired," she said dismissively.

But Pierre pressed on, his anxiety bubbling over. "No, Emily, this is important. Molly… she's turning into something else."

That stopped her. Emily slowly turned, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. "Excuse me?"

"She's not the sweet little girl you think she is," Pierre said, stepping closer. "She threatened me today. I'm telling you, there's something seriously wrong—"

"Pierre, no!" Emily cut him off, her voice rising as her hands flew to her hips. "That's my daughter you're talking about. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Pierre flinched at the sharpness of her tone but stood his ground. "I swear, Emily. She looked me in the eye and threatened me. I'm not making this up!"

Emily laughed bitterly, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Really? She threatened you?" she repeated mockingly, throwing her hands in the air. "She's a child, Pierre! For heaven's sake, do you even hear yourself? You're a grown man, accusing a five-year-old of—what, intimidating you?"

"I know how it sounds, but you didn't see her," Pierre insisted, his voice cracking with frustration. "You didn't see the way she looked at me, the things she said. Emily, she's not what she seems."

Emily stared at him, her disbelief giving way to anger. She let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "You know what? I can't do this right now," she said, shaking her head. "Leave, Pierre."

"Wait, Emily, please—"

"No buts, Pierre!" she snapped, pointing toward the door. "Leave now. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you talk trash about my daughter."

"But I'm trying to protect you," Pierre pleaded, his voice dropping into a desperate tone.

"Protect me? From my own daughter?" Emily scoffed, her face twisting in anger. "Get out, Pierre. Now."

She marched toward him, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the door. Pierre tried to resist, but Emily was resolute, her fury giving her strength. She yanked the door open and practically shoved him outside.

"Emily, please, just listen to me!" he begged one last time, his voice cracking with emotion.

But Emily shook her head, her expression cold and unforgiving. "Goodnight, Pierre," she said firmly, slamming the door shut in his face.

For a long moment, Pierre stood there, staring at the closed door. The weight of her dismissal settled heavily on his chest, and a hollow ache spread through him. He knew, deep down, that it was over. Nothing he could say would convince her to see what he saw.

But as despair threatened to take over, a spark of determination lit within him. "If words won't work," he muttered to himself, "then I'll just have to show her."

Turning on his heel, Pierre walked away, his mind already racing with plans. He wasn't about to give up—not on Emily, and not on the life they'd been building together.

Inside the house, Emily leaned against the door, her shoulders slumping as the adrenaline drained from her. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to soothe the pounding headache that had formed.

From the corner of the room, Molly appeared, her small frame silhouetted against the dim light. "Mom? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.

Emily looked up at her daughter and managed a tired smile. "Everything's fine, sweetheart. Pierre just… he needed some time to cool off."

Molly nodded, her expression innocent and understanding. But as she turned away, a sly smile crept across her lips.

Pierre might have been determined to fight, but Molly was already ten steps ahead.