Poppy was on the couch, looking so pale that he would be able to count every freckle. Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted.
He picked her up before cradling her in his arms. "Poppy.. Oh dear." His browd furrowed as he checked for injuries.
She had a cut on her side and dark bruises painted her ribs, but beyond that it was difficult to tell. Her head lolled onto his chest, her breathing slow.
She shifted slightly, her eyes fluttering open. "Francis..." she murmured, her fingers curling weakly in his shirt.
Her brows furrowed and she shifted in his arms weakly. "I... I love you, too. Do you know where she is?"
She took a shaky breath, turning her head into his chest. "I'm so sorry, Francis. This... I should have taken better care of her."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Please, Francis. It's my fault she got taken. I need... I need to make sure she's okay."
She shut her eyes, rubbing her face embarrassedly at the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. "Why not? Francis, she's my daughter too."
