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Tears of frustration formed in her eyes. How was she supposed to make that decision? Did they know how hard it was going to be?
“There’s no need to cry.” Dahmere placed his hand over hers. “Everything is going to work out. I can just say that you should go with your gut. That’s what your Daddy does, and about eighty-nine percent of the time, he’s right.”
“Just eighty-nine percent?” She found herself chuckling.
“Yeah, just eighty-nine percent.”
“He’s totally downplaying it. Add ten to it, and that’s where your Daddy’s at. His gut is normally right,” Clinton said. “I say to trust your gut, but it’s ultimately up to you. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it is. We can’t make the decision for you, but we can give our input and listen. But we’re not going to sway you anyway. That wouldn’t be fair.”
She gave them a wobbly smile before looking down at her lap. Making decisions was so hard, decisions that really mattered for the rest of her life.
“Now, do you want some more hot chocolate, or do you want to just sit and relax? You won’t hurt our feelings if you want to go back up to your Daddy’s room and chill. We know it’s been a very hard few hours—a lot of tough discussions. Sometimes, you just need to be by yourself.” Clinton turned his back to her for a couple of seconds.
Part of her wanted to be left alone so she could think about things. Her mind tended to go to the worst whenever she was alone. It was hard for it not to. But before she could answer, the door opened, pulling her from her thoughts and the question.
Four men walked through the front door.
Daddy, Matthias, and two men who she didn’t know. The first thing she noticed was Daddy’s red shirt sleeve.
“Dahmere, come, I need you to take a look at this wound,” Daddy blurted out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MARGERY
Margery’s heart stopped beating as she took in the sight before her. Daddy was bleeding.
Daddy. Was. Bleeding.
Her whole body froze as he continued to walk. Her eyes were trained on his arm. It looked like it was still bleeding. What had happened? How did he get hurt? How long ago was it?
Tears pooled in her eyes as he sat on a chair. He didn’t look fazed by what was going on. How many times had he gotten hurt like this? Why wasn’t he showing he was in pain? Did it not hurt?
“Little one? Can you look at Daddy’s eyes and not his arm?” he gently said.
But Margery didn’t look away. Blood continued to track down his arm.
Was Daddy going to die? Was he going to get an infection and die for real? Margery wasn’t ready to lose him. Shehad just found out he was alive. She wasn’t ready to let go of him. Not when he promised the rest of their lives together.
“Margery,” he calmly spoke. “Can you look Daddy in the eyes?”
She blinked several times, letting the tears fall down her face. Just thinking about him dying made her realize that she wanted to be with him. She didn’t want to let him go.
“Are you going to die?” she whispered, her voice so broken.
“Oh, Little one. Come to Daddy.”
Margery shook her head and took a step back. She didn’t want to watch him die. It was not on her list of things to see today.
“Clinton. Help.”
Before she knew what was happening, strong arms wrapped around her. She screamed and started to kick her legs.
“You’re okay,” Uncle Clinton whispered in her ear.
“No. No. No. I don’t want to watch him die. Take me back. Help me,” she begged.
Margery continued to kick her legs, trying to get out of his grip. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Daddy right now. She wanted to be as far away as possible.
