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Mary squeals, “Mine’s Louise!”
“Mary Louise,” I elaborate. “Louise was my mother’s name.”
“And we match!” Mary rushes, poking an embroidered flower on Lulu’s denim overalls.
Lulu grins, not seeming the least bit perturbed by my daughter’s enthusiasm. “I guess we do. Although yours are cooler since they have way more flowers than mine.”
Mary’s shoulders drop along with her excitement. “I ruined them.”
“No, baby, it’s just a tear. A needle and thread and they’ll be as good as new. Maybe your mommy could even sew a flower over to hide it.”
I cringe internally at Lulu’s words. Opening my mouth, I go to correct her, but my daughter beats me to it.
“I don’t have a mommy. She’s in heaven,” Mary whispers, shredding my heart.
“Oh.”
A blanket of silence settles over us, awkward and sad.
“I don’t have a daddy. He’s in heaven too,” Lulu whispers, her words not traveling outside our small triangle.
Mary blinks quickly, her eyes searching when she looks at Lulu. “Do you think they’re together?” she asks, turning toward me.
I frown at the question. She’s never asked anything like this before . . . We rarely mention her birth mother.
“Maybe,” I answer, stroking my hand over the back of her head.
“So Mommy’s not lonely without us?”
My heart squeezes. Mary will never know what truly happened to her mother . . . or her birth father.
A ball of emotion lodges in my throat, cutting off any words I could come up with.
“Yeah, baby, I think they’re together.” Lulu nods, answering for me as she blinks back tears.
Piglet’s head bobs along with ours. With my left hand, I wipe her small cheek, and reaching out her right hand, Lulu wipes Mary’s other cheek until we’re both happy my daughter’s tears are gone.
Sneaking a look at me, Lulu gives a small, sad smile.
Fuck, I’m in trouble . . . and so is she.
CHAPTER TWO
Lulu
My heart is breaking. How can the world be so unfair?
Mary glances back down at her knee, dry-eyed and calmer, but pain still spears my chest. Every little girl should have their mother, but at least she has her dad. His large hand moves from her cheek to cup the back of her head.
I miss my dad. My chin trembles, and my throat closes.
Blinking quickly, I blow out a heavy breath. It’s been fourteen years, and I’m still waiting for it to get easier. I was only a couple of years older than Mary, and life just never got better.
I jump when strong fingers brush against my cheek. I hadn’t realized I was crying. My face heats,and the tips of our fingers brush when I roughly wipe my tears away with the back of my hand. With a sniffle, I turn away from him.
The same strong fingers that were so gentle just a second ago grip my chin tightly, forcing my gaze back to his, where he holds it hostage.
“Ajax,” he breathes.
