Page 233

Darlene won't eat eggs if the yolk is runny. Damian says he doesn't care how his eggs are cooked. He's lying. Scramble them.

My throat tightens. Of course she wrote that.

I turn the page.

Arian usually wants another bottle after his morning diaper. Rub between his shoulders if he's fussy.

“I know,” I whisper. My wolf shifts inside me. Mate knows pups. "Yeah."

I close the notebook and make breakfast. There are clothes to wash. Three pups to feed. A funeral to prepare for.

My mate's funeral.

I grip the edge of the counter until the pain in my fingers pulls me back into the kitchen.

“Daddy?”

I look over my shoulder. Darlene watches me.

“I'm okay, baby.”

She doesn't believe me. Neither do I. But she needs breakfast, so I finish making it.

Later, I stand behind Darlene with a brush in one hand and a hair tie around my wrist. She sits on the bathroom counter watching me through the mirror.

“Don't pull.”

“I know.”

“Mommy says you pull.”

My hand stops. Darlene's eyes drop. For a second, neither of us moves.

Then I gently run the brush through her hair. “I'll be careful.”

She nods. I gather her hair and secure it into a ponytail. It falls neatly down the back of her head.

“There.”

Darlene turns her head toward the mirror. Her nose wrinkles.

“No.”

I stare at her. “No?”

“It's wrong.”

“Your hair is brushed.”

“My ponytail.”

I look at it. Looks like a ponytail to me.

Darlene reaches up and points toward the ceiling. “It's supposed to go up.”

“Up?”

“Toward the Moon Goddess.”