A/N: HOLY COW, you guys! I am blown away by the amazing response to Chapter 1. Special thanks to the guest reviewers, to whom I cannot reply directly.

Slight T/W here for automobile fatality (brief mention)

xx,

CSotA

September, 2013 - July, 2014: England

"Hello, Princess," Charles said as Daisy clambered into the car. "How was school?"

"Fine," she said sullenly. "At least it's Friday."

Charles hummed as he pulled away from the curb. She's only in her second year of school! How in the world can she already dislike it?

"Well, what would you like to do this evening? Your wish," he said with a smile, "is my command."

But instead of answering his question, she tossed out one of her own. "Can't we just stay home this weekend, Papa? I don't want to go to the seaside."

"Whyever not, Daisy? Mummy and I have already booked your favorite place, the one with the little puppy that lives in the office, remember?"

"Sparky," she answered, a smile playing about her lips as she said the name. "Yes, I remember. But we don't have to go, do we?"

"Yes, darling, we do. I don't understand – you love the sea! What's this about?"

Daisy shrugged, saying nothing. Charles didn't want to push her, didn't want to say anything that could potentially turn her against her mother. But the fact was, he was pretty sure he knew why she didn't want to go. Why bother? It won't be a family getaway … they never are, really.

"Mummy doesn't have to work at all this weekend, you know. Well, only that meeting tonight," he amended.

"I suppose."

"Good. Now … tonight?"

"Pizza?" Daisy asked, her face lighting up. He had promised that the evening was up to her, after all.

"As you wish," he replied, giving a little bow of his head.

"And a movie?" she added.

"Oh, wait a moment," he said. He knew what was coming, and shook his head in mock fear. "Not again."

Daisy finally giggled, knowing full well he wouldn't say no anyhow.

"Yes, Papa … Despicable Me. The first one."

Charles closed his eyes briefly as he put the car in park. "Right, but I am not -"

"Yes, you are!" Peals of laughter came from Daisy's side of the car as she unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed her knapsack. "And we can have popcorn, right?"

"Of course," Charles said, unlocking the door. He held it open for Daisy to head in, and followed closely behind, grumbling, "I am not your personal Gru …"

Charles put his things away and changed out of his work clothes while Daisy headed into the kitchen to do her homework. She didn't have much, but they chatted back and forth as she worked at the counter and he finished making dinner, so it ended up taking a while. Two hours later the homework was finished and the dinner dishes were put away. As Daisy walked by the dining room, she called out to Charles.

"Papa? Mummy left her briefcase here. Doesn't she need it if she's at her meeting?"

Charles poked his head around the corner. "Sorry?"

"Her briefcase – it's right here," Daisy said, lifting it from the dining room chair. "She never goes to work without this."

No, she doesn't, he thought, a feeling of dread suddenly creeping down his spine.

"You should call her and ask, Papa. Maybe she needs it. She'd be in trouble if she rushed out and forgot it."

"Well, she's the boss, so that's not likely," he replied with a smirk. "But I will call and see."

He pulled out his phone and tapped the 'Alice – office' icon, then paced around the kitchen as he waited for the receptionist to answer. He glanced at the clock: 18:16.

No answer.

No answer means no receptionist, he told himself. Not no Alice. It only means that she sent Gail home on time an hour ago, and that she's meeting with a client. He tried her mobile, and the shiver that had previously down his spine settled in the pit of his stomach as it went straight to voicemail, not ringing even once.

Alice was never scatterbrained – her phone would never have been dead. Which meant only one thing, Charles realized: she'd shut it off.

And, he finally accepted, she's undoubtedly NOT at work after all. Which only left one other option, really … the one he'd suspected for months now but had never wanted to confirm.

"Papa?" Daisy asked softly. "Are you alright? You don't look like you feel well."

Charles smiled brilliantly, wondering how Daisy didn't see right through it (and wondering later if, perhaps, she did). "I'm fine, petal. How about you grab us a bowl and I'll start the popcorn, hm?"

"Yay! And then I'll get the movie started."

"Do you know how to work the Blu-ray player?" he teased. "You are only seven, after all."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Yes, Gru," she sighed dramatically. "Besides," she added, heading into the living room, "we don't need the Blu-ray. I saved it in the recorder last time we watched it on the telly."

"I assume you know what that means and what to do about it," he grumbled.

"Yes," she called patiently. "I've already set it up – come on, Papa!"

"Just let me make the popcorn and I'll be right there!" She's seven going on seventeen, I swear. "You know it takes a minute." Once the kernels finished popping, he poured them in the bowl and added a drizzle of real melted butter and a dash of salt, then grabbed a few napkins. He delivered the bowl to Daisy, then returned to get their large glasses of milk.

Prep finally complete, he sat down on the sofa and settled himself in for a night of laughing, snacking, and teasing with his favorite person on Earth … trying desperately, in the meantime, not to let his mind wander as it worried about whether or not this little piece of heaven was now in jeopardy.

He had a sneaking suspicion that their time away at the seaside wouldn't be happening after all.

Five hours later, Charles pulled himself from sleep as a familiar voice reached his ear.

"I'm home," Alice purred into his ear. "Are you awake?"

Charles felt the blankets lift as Alice climbed in. He froze without meaning to; she noticed.

"C'mon, Charlie," she mumbled. "I missed you."

"Nice of you to join us tonight. And you've been drinking - what a surprise," he said bluntly. "You likely don't even know what you're saying."

"What's that supposed to mean? I had a drink or two after my meeting, so what? I got home just fine, and we leave tomorrow for an overnight at the beach. Let's start the weekend off nicely, alright?"

She reached out and ran a carefully-manicured nail up his thigh, surprised and a little hurt when he flinched and moved away.

Charles sat up against the headboard and turned on the bedside lamp. He looked at his wife, really looked at her for the first time in weeks. "Where were you really?" he asked.

"Charlie? What in hell are you talking about? I was working late." She blanched, though, and he saw it immediately.

"No, you weren't. I called you, Alice, because Daisy found your briefcase on the dining chair."

Alice ran her tongue across her bottom lip, in contemplation of what to say. She opted for silence, which was perhaps the worst choice of all.

Charles shook his head and closed his eyes, willing his emotions to remain in check as he confronted the truth at last.

"For how long, Alice?"

"What?"

"Don't play me for a fool now … not anymore. For how long? What's his name?" Before she could answer, another piece clicked into place. "Oh, my God, he's a client, isn't he?"

She looked into his eyes and saw there was no point in lying about it. "Damn you, Charles," she spat, her oncoming headache making it hard for her to keep her mind clear. "Did you have to do this tonight?"

His jaw dropped, incredulity flowing off of him in waves. "You're joking, right? You came in here to make love to me, after months of not coming near me at all and - what's even more insulting - after you've clearly been with someone else! You're half-drunk, you claimed to be at work this evening, and I figured out you weren't only because our daughter found your briefcase and worried you'd be in trouble if you didn't have it. Why did I have to do this tonight? Oh, that's rich!"

"Oh, please! Daisy doesn't care about me being in trouble. Not that I would have been anyhow – I'm the goddamn boss."

"Yes, that's what I told her," he retorted. "And she cares a great deal about you, not that you'd notice. You are her mother. She loves you more than you realize," he said, "and more than you deserve, perhaps."

Alice pursed her lips, wishing now that she'd just gone to her own bed. She didn't know what she'd been thinking, coming in to see him, pretending everything was normal again … not after so many years of struggling. She saw the impossibility of her situation, the way that their lives were about to change in immeasurable ways. All that time spent working on her career – putting it above her family, to be sure, but managing to make something extraordinary for herself in the process. She could see it all coming down around her head now because of a half-drunken conversation in her husband's room, in a bed she hadn't shared with him in months.

"Where did we go wrong, Charles?"

He just stared at her, too stunned by her question to speak. He shook his head, and looked at her with fresh eyes.

"Charles?"

"I'm sorry, where did we go wrong? I'd say we went wrong when you decided that Daisy only needed one parent," he whispered angrily, not wishing to wake their girl but unable to keep silent any longer. Years of frustration were bubbling up and bursting forth, and he could barely control it all. "We went wrong when you started spending eighty hours a week at work. We went wrong when you spent more time on your clients during our 'family weekends' than you did with your family. And we went wrong when we forgot that props like briefcases are quite necessary when we are pretending to be working when we are, in fact, rolling around in another man's bed!"

"Fine. I realize that I've ruined this family, that I've fucked up this marriage," she said, ignoring how he flinched at her choice of language. "I can accept that. But I'm not happy here, and I don't think I have been for a long time," she said quietly, starting to cry.

He just stared at her, dumbfounded. "I don't understand you. I don't know what else I could have done to make sure you would be as happy today as you were when we were first married. I tried everything - working from home, keeping the house going, doing the shopping, the cooking …"

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it as she cried softly, the buzz from the alcohol wearing off as a feeling of deep emptiness settled in her chest. "You did always take care of everything – I realize that, and I will own this. I've made a mess of us, and I am truly sorry for that. But I can't keep pretending to be happy with this life. I don't even know why I ever thought I could. And I don't think you're happy with our life anymore, either. Not really - not with us, anyhow." She tucked her legs up, resting her chin atop her knees, and looked so much like Daisy in that moment that it nearly broke his heart.

"Are you in love with him?" Charles asked, fearing the answer she would give and ignoring the burning tears that were now running down his own face.

"I'm not sure, to tell the truth. I think so," she admitted. "He's not you, I do know that. He's not … well, he's not you. You are, and have always been, a wonderful man. This doesn't change that."

"But you aren't in love with me." It was a statement, really - a question to which he thought he'd divined the answer months ago.

She sighed, then hung her head. "No, not anymore. I love you, Charles – I'll always love you, and I do love Daisy, regardless of what you and she may honestly think, but I've changed, Charles. This life of mine, this career - it's altered me."

"You know, Daisy thinks you adore her," he reassured her, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. "So don't worry about that."

"Good, because I do. I know this whole mess is down to me, and there's nothing you've done wrong. But I know myself, and I know that I'm not happy when I'm here."

"And he makes you happy? This other man?"

She nodded.

"For how long?" he asked again. "I'm sorry, but I think you owe that to me, given that he's responsible for your … epiphany."

"Yes," Alice conceded. "A year, maybe less. Not much less."

"And his name?"

She barked out a laugh. "Oddly enough, his name is Charlie."

"Of course it is," Charles whispered. "That's just great."

Alice rose from the bed and headed toward the door, stopping briefly to turn around and say, "I won't fight you for custody, but I want to see her. I want to see my child, Charles - I won't give her to you completely."

"Nor should you," he whispered, "because it would kill her to feel she wasn't wanted."

Alice nodded, then turned and left, shutting the door softly behind her and saying a silent prayer of thanks that Daisy was still asleep in bed when she peeked in on her.

Alice moved out about a month later, at the beginning of November. Daisy was having a very hard time, and Charles spent days upon days consoling her, trying to make her realize it was not her fault that her parents were splitting up. Neither he nor Alice had told Daisy about the other man, a decision that had required no discussion whatsoever.

After eight more weeks - which included a rather awkward Christmas celebration that involved all three Carsons dining out at a restaurant with Robert and Cora - Daisy started to turn a corner. She got into the routine of visiting her Mummy at her new flat, and somehow she still managed to do well in school.

Eventually she did meet 'the other Charlie,' as she called him. He was rather a funny man, and did things like juggling and singing silly songs to make her laugh. She didn't really want to tell her Papa the truth when he asked about it, but she knew she couldn't lie.

"I liked him," she said with trepidation.

But her Papa gave her a warm smile, happy that the experience had gone well for her. "I'm glad," he said, and he meant it. The hurt was beginning to dissipate, and it did help Charles that Daisy wasn't unhappy when visiting her mother and 'the other Charlie.' In place of the love he'd felt for Alice, however, a lonely ache was taking up residence in his heart.

Spring led to summer again and things seemed to settle. Alice had filed for a divorce by that point, and Charles could see no point in stretching things out any longer. He still felt acutely that small space in his heart in which he mourned the loss of his marriage, but he busied himself with work on the weekends that Daisy spent with Alice and felt that, at last, his family was beginning to heal. Perhaps they weren't together, but they had managed to remain friends, and Charles realized that counted for quite a lot.

Ironically, Alice became a much better parent now that she had moved out, taking a vested interest in spending time with her daughter on those weekends they spent together. All in all, Charles thought, it may not have been the worst way for things to have unfolded. As Daisy celebrated the end of the school year, both she and Charles finally felt that they were back to some semblance of normalcy.

Until July … the eighth, to be exact; Charles would remember the date as long as he lived. He and Daisy had settled at the dining table so that he could help her with some maths, a constant source of struggle for her, and something he insisted on tutoring her in to prepare her for next year's class. The doorbell rang, startling them both, and he pulled out his pocket watch.

"At this hour? Who on earth can that be?"

"I'll get it!" Daisy shouted, happy for the reprieve from word problems that made no sense. She ran to the door and opened it, and saw two police detectives on the front step.

"Well, hello there," the older of the two asked, removing his hat. "Is your Papa home?"

"Daisy?" Charles called, heading down the front hallway. "Who …" He never finished the question, as the answer was plainly obvious once he saw who was on the stoop. "May I help you?"

"Charles Carson?" the older man asked. "I'm Detective Sergeant Merton, and this is Detective Constable Nugent. May we come in?" The look on the man's face told Charles there could only be one reason for their presence on his doorstep.

"No," he whispered. "It can't be." Charles was struggling to breathe, and Daisy was looking back and forth between her Papa and the detectives on the stoop, working out that something bad was happening but not able to make sense of it all yet.

"Mr. Carson, this will be easier if you let us come in."

Charles finally nodded and extended his arm, indicating for them to pass through. It was the tremor in his hand that first caused Daisy to be frightened - that, and the tightness with which his other hand grasped hers as they led their guests to the sitting room.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Carson," the older one - Merton, he recalled- said after they'd sat down. "There's been an accident involving your wife."

"We're separated," he uttered, not sure how he was managing even to speak. "She doesn't live here anymore."

The detectives looked at each other briefly, and then DC Nugent spoke. "Be that as it may, this was the address on her vehicle registration."

"She must have forgotten to change it. Only that's not like her…" Charles took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid this isn't making much sense. Yes, Alice is technically still my wife. We've been separated for several months, and our divorce is pending. She's been living in a flat in London."

"I see. But you're still her next of kin."

Next of kin. Oh, oh my GOD … A chill ran through his entire body and Charles just stared at these men who'd invaded his happy home, trying to swallow and breathe normally. His eyes darted to Daisy and back again, indicating that the detectives should tread very carefully with their words.

"Yes, we are," he said meaningfully. He wished there were some way to ask them to not say what they'd come to say, but he realized the futility.

"We are so very sorry, Mr. Carson, to be bringing this news. Mrs. Carson was involved in a motor vehicle accident about two hours ago. No other vehicles were involved, but she ran her car off the road in the rain. I'm sorry to say, but she didn't survive."

Charles nodded slowly, then extended his arm around Daisy's shoulders. But Daisy ripped herself away from him and jumped off the couch.

"No! My Mummy is not dead!" she shouted at the detectives. "You're lying!"

"Daisy!" Charles called. "I'm sorry," he said, apologizing to the two men for her outburst.

"It's fine," DC Nugent assured them. "This the worst part of our job, believe me. But we'll need for you to come down to the station tomorrow, if at all possible."

"Oh, heavens, no … I'm not sure that I can," Charles whispered.

DS Merton understood immediately. "Mr. Carson," he said softly, "we are positive that the woman in the crash was, indeed, your wife. We've no need for …" he looked briefly at Daisy, who was sobbing on the floor, "... clarification of that," he added tactfully. "We simply need you to come for her belongings and discuss arrangements with someone at the station. We've a social worker on staff who will help you through everything."

"I see," he said softly. The detectives rose from their seats, and Charles did the same. He moved over toward where Daisy was seated and crouched down beside her.

"Daisy, love, you've got to get up. They're leaving."

"Mummy," she whispered, her voice already raw from emotion.

"I know, petal," he said, reaching down and picking her up as he used to do when she was younger, quite grateful at the moment that she was still a tiny slip of a girl. She positively clung to him, managing to wrap her arms and legs around him as she sobbed onto his shoulder.

"You have our deepest condolences, Mr. Carson - and Daisy," DS Merton said. He paused, and then reached his hand out to pat Daisy's shoulder gently. He had four granddaughters living with him at home, and it broke his heart in two to have to bring this kind of news to a child.

"Thank you," Daisy managed.

They were the last words she'd speak to anyone but Charles for the next several months.

I'm sorry. I broke my own heart writing this bit, I don't mind confessing. Please leave a note and let me know what you thought. Robert and Edith should appear in the next chapter!