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It was Sunday afternoon when Roman and Daisy found themselves under the shade of the old oak tree behind the church. Their parents were talking about adult stuff again, and Roman didn’t have the patience to stand around, listening to conversations he wouldn’t understand—something about giving the right amount of… something to the right person and greasing hands. It didn’t make sense, but then again, adults rarely did—except his father. His father always made sense.
Roman stood under the tree, his sweater guarding him from the autumn chill, Daisy’s small hand in his own. His grip was tight, firm, and possessive as he pulled the petite girl closer to his side.
Daisy stumbled, but didn’t complain. Her tiny frame tucked perfectly against his side—where she belonged, and he liked it that way—liked having her near, where he could keep an eye on her. She was smaller and weaker, but that’s just how girls were. She needed someone to protect her. Roman could protect Daisy if she was near.
He had begun learning how to box. It hurt—there were still bruises littering his skin beneath the wool of his clothes, and sometimes it even hurt to just breathe, but it was fine. He's fine .
Just like his father said, it was what it took to be a man. Roman could take it. Roman was a man, his father’s son. Unlike poopy crybaby Luca, who cried over the stupidest things, like getting pushed t oo hard.
Luca played with soft toys and his mother’s soft hands like a little baby. God, Roman couldn’t wait for all his plushies to be thrown out when he turned ten, just like Roman’s had been 2 years ago. He bet Luca would cry, unlike Roman who sucked it all up.
It annoyed him when he saw Luca get coddled, a burning feeling in his chest and throat when he saw his mother’s hands cupping Luca’s stupid little face. It wasn’t jealousy.
it wasn’t .
It was anger, he told himself, anger at Luca—his little brother, another man bearing the Calignione name—acting like a girl .
Men should act like men, and girls should act like girls. Like his father and his mother. Like Roman and Daisy.
Girls are frail and not as strong as men; his mum, the girls in his class, Daisy. One punch and they’d pass out, crying for days after a raised voice or a little hit. His mum did. Daisy too, sometimes. He had asked his mother once, and she said it was natural, that it was in their biology. Girls were just more fragile. He looked over at Daisy—who seemed to be letting her mind wander, lowering her guard, unaware of her surroundings—and he agreed.
Her hands were cold, and Roman frowned at that, rubbing her fingers—soft but bony—between his own to warm them up. But it was more for his own comfort than hers. He didn’t want Daisy to get sick like her little sister often did—an annoying baby, just like Luca.
Daisy would never admit it, but Roman knew she didn’t like Lily. It was in the way she smiled too wide when her mum asked her to help with the baby. Daisy always denied it. Roman always rolled his eyes.
Of course Daisy wouldn’t even admit the most basic facts, younger siblings are the worst thing any kid could get.
Though maybe it was just a girl’s job to take care of babies. That’s why Daisy acted that way, he figured. Daisy is a good girl who never liked lying, but she disliked being disobedient even more. She was a rule-follower, always listening to the grown-ups who surrounded their little life.
Roman had seen Daisy take care of the baby lots of times while her parents talked to other grownups—feeding her, calming her down, even changing her diaper.
Ew.
Smelly poop.
Ugh.
He’s so glad that he’s a boy.
He didn’t know how Daisy could do it—not even the older girls were that good with babies. Maybe it was because she was like him, more grown up? More older? More ma..ma..Whatever. That.
Daisy reminds him of his mother sometimes; soft and delicate and very good with babies. She’ll be a good mother and wife.
But even if she’s good at it and acted like she didn’t mind, Roman knows that it’s a huge chore for Daisy and like any chores, it must have sucked. Daisy is a girl so she must do a lot of chores.
She had been looking skinnier and paler lately. Roman doesn't understand why Mrs. Albrecht doesn't take care of the baby herself, it was bad enough that Daisy got dizzy every time she thought too much. Now she rarely has time to distract him from boring Sunday church time. Daisy's whole family sucked.
Roman didn’t have many friends at church, not like he needed them but maybe that’s why he kept Daisy around. The other kids at church were all losers anyway. The older boys—For example; Daisy's brothers—were either nerds or weirdos who smoked, did drugs or pulled on little girls’ pigtails. The ones his age were no better, just a bunch of crybabies like Luca, always tattling to their parents and taking his pranks way too seriously. Percy, another of Daisy’s brothers in his class, made things worse by tattling to the teachers—ensuring everyone avoided Roman after he gave Oliver a black eye.
Daisy was a crybaby too, but at least she never tattled. She never complained about his pranks or ruined the game, not even when he accidentally bruised her once. She didn’t brawl with him—obviously, she wouldn’t—but she also didn’t ask him to play with dolls or do stupid teatime stuff like the other girls. She listened to him, followed along, and sometimes even took care of him. Like a good girl should.
Another point in her favor: the other kids hated Daisy for being too good. Roman got it, he kind of hated that too, sometimes—especially when her goody-two-shoes act made him look bad—but it wasn’t her fault. The rules just worked out that way.
Daisy’s pigtails got pulled a lot—because she was too good, and everyone knew it. And so, Roman liked guarding her. It made him feel like a knight guarding a princess from villains, like in the bedtime stories his mum used to read.
Daisy, finally sensing his gaze, tilted her head up at him, her dark eyes brimming with curiosity as she voiced the thoughts that had been swimming in her head for hours now.
“Roman, what do you think they’re talking about?” she asked, her voice hushed, like she was sharing a secret.
Roman wrinkled his nose at her unexpected question. “Something boring. Probably about money or church things. Grown-ups always talk about money and church things.” He looked down at her, his expression serious. “You don’t need to care about stuff like that. You’re a girl. You’re better off not thinking about those things. That’s man stuff. You think too much. That’s why your head always hurts.”
Daisy frowned, her wide lips pulling down. “I’m fine,” she said, looking away before looking back at him again. Roman didn’t believe her. He bet she was scrunching her face again, but he didn’t say anything. Daisy knew he was right anyway so he gracefully allowed her a small rebellion.
With the little tell-tale pout still etched across her small face, she asked “Then what do you think we should care about?”
Roman thought for a long time, a little crease forming between his thick brows, a little frown on his little face. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “You should probably think about girl stuff… like how to cook and stuff. My dad gets really mad when Mom’s late making dinner. Like, scary mad”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess he’s just hangry.”
He didn’t have an answer, but he didn’t want to admit it. He was supposed to know—he was the older one, after all. But all the things he cared about—boxing, proving himself, making his father proud—those didn’t seem like the kind of answer Daisy was looking for.
And he wasn’t going to waste his time teaching her about the things that mattered. It wasn’t like she’d understand. “You just focus on being a girl. I’ll handle the important stuff. Keeping you away from harm, making sure you don’t get in trouble. That’s my job, okay?” He puffed out his chest, mimicking his father’s posture.
Daisy blinked up at him, her dark eyes wide, lips parting slightly like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. her fingers twisting the fabric of her blue skirt into tight little knots before she forced them still.
Roman didn’t notice, so she smiled instead. The words stuck at the back of her throat. It stayed there, like they always did. Daisy could be the good proper girl he wanted her to be and that’s why she was his favorite to play with. Roman liked that about Daisy. Everyone liked that about her.
Daisy just hummed before looking at him, bumping her little shoulder against the unbudging boy. “How about you, Roman? What should you think about?”
“I think…” He hesitated, then frowned. “I think I should focus on being strong. Not letting people walk all over me. And knowing when to hit back. On being a man.” He stared at the bruises on his knuckles, hidden under the sleeves of his sweater.
His father always said that real men don't let themselves get pushed around. His father said you had to be ruthless, that kindness was a weakness, that the world didn’t respect soft men. “If I’m strong, I won’t have to be scared again”
Daisy tilted her head. “I don’t think you need to be strong all the time,” she murmured, her grip on his hand tightening as the wind blows, the sound of the leaves rustling almost drowning her voice but oddly enough Roman could hear it clearly “You’re already one of the strongest people I know.”
Her voice, low but clear, rang like a distant church bell—something pure cutting through the noise.
This is why he likes Daisy. Not like like—love is for chumps—but yeah. He likes her. A lot.
The pressure in his heart lightened and for almost a whole minute he almost believed her words but then he heard the sound of his father's laugh, loud and booming–similar to the explosive of the Sunday cartoons—louder than the leaves and louder than the church bell.
Roman then remembered the fear that gripped him when he saw the muscle of his father’s arm bulging, his jaw tightening as he often did with Roman—and especially his mother—when they did wrong. “Well, that’s not enough. I’m going to be the strongest, so I can be fearless.”
Daisy looked up at Roman, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to be the strongest, Roman. We can protect each other.”
Roman scoffed, shifting slightly. He pulled his hand back just a little, He didn’t take what Daisy said seriously. She didn’t get it.
Daisy wasn’t strong. She was tiny and fragile. A gust of wind could probably knock her over. Roman felt the weight of her hand in his, small and cold, and his grip tightened instinctively. He had to save her. She wouldn’t last a day without someone looking out for her.
Roman exhaled sharply, the words tasting like his father’s “You won't understand, it's man stuff” he muttered. “The world’s not nice to people who aren’t strong.”
Daisy didn’t answer. She just leaned her head against his shoulder again, her tiny fingers curling around his like she didn’t want to let go. Roman let her. It was fine if she didn’t understand. The world wasn’t kind, and kindness wouldn’t save her—but Roman would. Roman will.
Roman looked up at the tree they were standing under, his warmth seeping into Daisy’s skin, but he didn’t mind. The tree had been behind the church as long as Roman could remember, its gnarled branches reaching out like the twisted fingers of an ancient guardian.
“Roman, look at this,” Daisy said, holding up a smooth stone in her hand, her eyes gleaming with innocent excitement. She always had a way of finding beauty in the smallest things—things Roman never thought twice about.
Roman glanced at the stone, uninterested at first. “What’s so special about it? It’s just a rock.”
Daisy’s smile softened as she knelt down and placed the smooth, gleaming stone carefully in his palm. “It’s not just any rock, Roman. It’s the kind that you can make wishes on. Thats why its so smooth!” Her voice was so matter-of-fact that Roman had to stop himself from laughing.
“A wish rock?” he repeated, eyeing her with an exaggerated look of skepticism.
She nodded solemnly, her eyes wide. “Yes. If you close your eyes and hold it tight, you can make a wish. Mama told me that when I was little. She said that the earth holds all the wishes of the world, and the stone is how we can speak to it.”
Roman smirked. “You believe that stuff? It's just a prettier rock. You're so silly, Daisy”
Daisy didn’t answer at first. She just sat there, her knees tucked up to her chest as she looked out at the fields, where the long grass swayed in the breeze like an ocean of green. After a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. “I believe that we need to hold on to something… something that can make us feel like there’s more than what we see in front of us. I still don’t think it’s possible for us to be strong all the time… that’s why I believe in God. He will take care of me when my parents can’t, my mama said so.”
“I can protect you.”
“That’s not the point.” Daisy rolled her eyes and frowned.
Roman scoffed, tossing the stone up in the air and catching it in his hand. “The point is, I’m going to get stronger so I can fight and win. To protect you.” He squeezed the stone harder, feeling the cool weight of it in his palm. “The world doesn’t care about wishes. It’s not fair, and it doesn’t care if you’re kind or if you pray. You gotta grow up and understand that.”
Daisy’s gaze turned to him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, sad smile, she said, “Maybe the world isn’t fair. But I think that’s why God exists. People need things like kindness. And faith. And… hope.”
Roman felt a strange, tight sensation in his chest. He wasn’t sure why her words were so heavy today. Usually, he’d brush them off, tell her to stop being so soft. But today, they felt different.
“Daisy,” he began, his voice quieter than he intended, “the world doesn’t work like that.”
“I know,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the grass, absently pulling it from the ground. “Which is why I won’t stop praying and wishing.”
Roman fell silent for a while, just staring at the stone in his hand. For a moment, he thought about making a wish. It seemed like the kind of thing he could get behind—if only to humor her.
But as he closed his eyes and thought about it, something in his chest squeezed tighter, and he found himself not wishing for anything. Not for strength. Not for power. Not even for the world to be better.
No, Roman just wished—for once, for Daisy—that he could believe in what she believed.
But that was something he could never ask for. Not from anyone. Certainly not from Daisy, who still held on to her innocence like it was a lifeline, like it would save her from the ugliness of everything that lay ahead.
Roman finally opened his eyes and looked at her, still sitting there, serene and patient, waiting for him to respond.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll make a wish.” He threw the stone far into the field, letting it roll away out of sight. “But only because you said so.”
Daisy laughed softly, the sound like a melody caught in the wind. “I’ll keep your wish safe,” she said, as though she were the keeper of all the good things in the world.
Roman couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, even if only for a moment. The world may not have cared about kindness or faith, but at that moment, beneath the old oak tree, it seemed like something had shifted. Something small, something fragile, but something real.
Daisy stood up, brushing dirt off her knees and holding her hands out to him, as she always did. “Come on, Roman. Let’s go see if we can find more wish rocks.”
Roman looked at her for a second, a flicker of something soft passing across his features. He knew, even then, that she wasn’t just looking for rocks. She was looking for hope. She was looking for something to believe in.
And Roman? Well, maybe he was looking for the same thing.
Roman will keep her safe.
Keep her pure and kind.
Roman will believe in himself.
He will become something she’ll believe in.
Because deep down, Roman doesn’t believe in God.
Only in himself.
Only in man.