With a grunt of effort, I slide off him and dash across the room, snatching the doorknob and yanking it open before she can get too curious or clever for her own good. I step into the hall and slam it shut behind me in one clean motion, trying to keep what’s inside exactly where it belongs.
Willow stumbles back a couple steps, blinking up at me with wide, suspicious eyes. Her brow is furrowed, her mouth pursed, and I know that look. I’ve seen it before.
It’s the same sharp scrutiny she had that night in the bathroom when she’d caught me with Amerie’s perfume.
The little girl really is too smart for her own good. She knows something’s off.
I see it written on her round face, her adorable button features. She blinks up at me and then squeaks, “Where’s my Daddy?”
I pop on a forced smile, realizing I’m slightly out of breath. “He’s just resting, poppet. Needed a bit of shuteye, poor thing.”
From behind the door, there’s another burst of sound—Declan’s muffled roars filtering through the cracks in the frame. I let out an exaggerated cough to cover it, then slide an arm around her tiny shoulders, steering her down the opposite direction of the corridor.
“Tell you what, dear. How about I fix you a bowl of ice cream? You can pick a film. A rewatch ofLilo & Stitch, perhaps?”
“I wanna see my Daddy.”
“Don’t be difficult, Willow. I just said he’s resting?—”
“I don’t believe you. I wanna see my Daddy right now!” she screams suddenly. She stomps down on my foot with all the fury her tiny body can muster and bolts down the hall, her curls bouncing as she beelines for her parent’s bedroom.
“OW! WILLOW!”
I lunge after her.
She’s quick, I’ll give her that. But her legs are still short, and panicked little girls never get far. I grab her by the hair, yanking her back with such force that she yelps and stumbles, dangling in my grip like a ragdoll.
“You ungrateful, snotty little brat!” I snarl, shaking with rage. “Do you think I was asking you? You’re not in charge here—Iam!I’myour mummy! If you want to behave like a brat, then fine, you’ll be treated like one!”
She cries and flails as I drag her down the hall toward the guest bedroom where my bag sits on the bed.
I gave her the chance to be a good little girl. She’s made her choice.
It looks like I’m going to need more rope.
The house is blissfully still as I cradle Emmett in my arms. I stare down at him as I rock him back and forth, his small warm body pressed to my chest. His lashes flutter ever so slightly as he fights off a nap.
“I love you, my beautiful boy,” I croon. “You’re the only one who sees me, aren’t you? The only one who would never hurt me. Not like they have.”
His tiny fingers curl around nothing, opening and closing in the air between us. I take it as a sign he’s hungry, poor lamb.
“All babies get cross when they need something, don’t they?” I whisper, rocking him more firmly. “That’s where Mummy comes in. That’s where I make everything better.”
With care, I begin undoing the buttons of my blouse, humming softly as I bare my breast and guide him to it.
“Come now, sweet boy,” I say, angling him close. “You’ll see—I taste better than she ever did.”
But Emmett turns his head away with a wriggle, his nose scrunching up, and the soft coos turn to restless little grunts. He pushes against me, his tiny palms trying to create space. My jaw tightens as I try again, holding him firmer, coaxing him to latch.
“You’re hungry,” I insist almost manically. “I know you are. Don’t make this difficult.”
The more I press him to me, the more he resists until he lets out a sharp, high-pitched wail that splits the silence. My arms stiffen. My fingers twitch against his back.
I count to ten in my head and then exhale a deep breath.
“He’s just overtired,” I murmur aloud to no one, though my tone wavers. “Babies get like that. They don’t know what they want.”
I adjust him on my knee, trying to bounce him into calmness, even as irritation prickles hot under my skin and a throb starts behind my eyes.
