The Day Our Promise Breaks (Charles and Evelyn) novel Chapter 671

Charlie couldn't help but lift her eyes to look at Charles.

She met his gaze—so full of love. His eyes were red and rimmed with guilt, but the way he looked at her was impossibly gentle. It was as if nothing else in the world mattered but her.

Her mom used to look at her the same way.

Charlie knew, without a doubt, that her mom loved her.

So, did that mean he loved her, too?

Charlie's lips pressed together in a stubborn line. Suddenly, she turned away, flopped down on the bed, and pulled the covers over her head, face buried in the pillow. Her little hands clutched the blanket tight, pressing it over her ears.

She didn’t want to hear anything else Charles had to say—her message was clear.

Charles didn’t push. He’d already said everything he needed to, made his feelings known.

He knew he’d hurt Charlie too much. He never expected her to forgive him right away. As long as she let him stay by her side, gave him a chance to make things right, that was enough for him.

—

Over the next few days, Charles insisted on taking care of Charlie himself.

He cooked all her favorite meals—pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, creamy mac and cheese, homemade chicken soup. He’d watched old security footage from Oakwood Manor just to learn the dishes she used to love.

Some recipes were totally new to him, but he practiced until he got them right, never losing patience.

Worried she'd get bored, he bought her paints and sketchbooks.

Charlie couldn’t say no to those. She loved drawing, especially with bright, colorful markers. She accepted the gift without a word, but her attitude toward Charles stayed frosty.

Every morning after breakfast, Charlie would settle by the big window and start to draw. Charles would sit quietly nearby, never interrupting. Whenever she glanced his way, she’d find him right there, always in the background.

There was always fresh fruit at her elbow, her water glass was always just right.

This was Charles’s way of saying, I’m here for you.

He just wanted to be there whenever she needed him.

Every night, as soon as Charlie got into bed, Charles would dim the lights and pick up the storybook. His voice was gentle as he read her a bedtime story.

The first night, Charlie protested—she said she didn’t need stories to fall asleep. But once Charles started reading, soft and steady, she couldn’t bring herself to make him stop.

Deep down, she wanted this—a dad reading her to sleep, just like other kids.

She was annoyed with herself for wanting it, but she couldn’t help it. She just turned her back on him, making her refusal in her own quiet way.

Charles watched his daughter’s little face, lips in a pout, cheeks puffed out as she pretended to be mad. But she didn’t ask him to leave.

So he kept reading.

He kept an eye on her, watching her expression soften, her breath slow and even.

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