Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Granted, they had been on my mind late at night and in brief moments when I wasn’t worried about Chloe or work. They were so good at making sure I was relaxed and comfortable, and I couldn’t help but wish that they were with me right now, murmuring comforting words to me or even holding me as I took a breather.
I just wanted them here, but that was ridiculous, right? We’d only just met! The tension I felt between them was… fleeting. I didn’t even know if I was going to see them again, even if I desperately wanted to. By the time Chloe was better and my life sort of went back to normal, they would’ve forgotten about me.
The thought of that made my heart ache, the pain echoing throughout my chest. I almost put my hand over my heart, but I kept my hand on my spoon and slowly stirred the steadily boiling chicken broth. Its warm, nurturing smell filled my nose as the steam rose from the pot, allowing me to relax somewhat.
But those rugged yet kind tattoo artists still lingered in the back of my mind.
Chicken noodle soup was good enough for one evening, but when the next day arrived, I realized that there was really nothing left to cook for Chloe. I had been so busy working and looking after her as she slowly healed that I hadn’t found time to go to the grocery store yet. I couldn’t put it off any longer.
When my mom arrived to watch Chloe, I nearly threw myself into her arms, burying my face in her shoulder. I didn’t even care if I was twenty-five, I still needed my mom when I sank into these dark, daunting moments.
“Her fever has gone down, but her throat is still sore. She has a light cough,” I blurted to my mom as I held her thin body tightly, able to smell her jasmine-scented shampoo in her shoulder-length, straight hair that was garnering a few white streaks within the dark brown color.
My mom rubbed my back.
“She’ll be just fine, Madison. You’re doing everything you can,” she assured me, already knowing why I basically collapsed in her arms.
I sighed, my body shuddering slightly as I did my best to keep myself together. It was just so tiring doing all of this by myself. Running the house. Raising my daughter. Working to make all of the money. It was so much.
“It never feels like enough,” I told her.
My mom put her hands on my upper arms and pulled back so that she could peer at me. She gave me a small smile.
“That’s just what being a mother feels like. You’d do anything for your babies. Anything,” she replied. “But we’re still human. We can only do so much. Luckily, we’re also pretty durable. She’ll get through this just fine.”
I breathed in deeply and nodded as I listened to her. She was one of the few people who could ground me during moments like these because she had been in my position before raising me and Leah. She understood exactly where I was coming from.
“I know. I just hope she gets better soon. I hate seeing her like this,” I said as my shoulders sagged slightly.
My mom gave my arms a squeeze before giving me a light shake.
“Come on. Take a breath. One thing at a time,” she told me, getting me to straighten up and blink my tears away. “Go get a few groceries. I’ll be here.”
“Thank you,” I told her sincerely, hoping she knew how much it meant to me that she helped me out during these tough moments. It stung to know that she had to go through the same thing while raising and Leah on her own, but I believed things turned out okay in the end.
My mom smiled and headed toward Chloe’s bedroom as I grabbed my things and walked out the front door. Today was an overcast day, light gray clouds crowding the sky and casting a hazy atmosphere over me as I went to my car.
That was when I heard a familiar voice.
“Madison.”
Chills rushed down my spine as I froze in place, hoping that I made that voice up in my head. He couldn’t possibly be here. I told him not to come within a mile of me or Chloe. Swallowing hard, I slowly turned to see Michael walking toward me in a dark blue suit with a small American flag pin stuck to the left lapel. When we were in late high school, he was built slim and had short brown hair and a clean-shaven face. Now, he was built large with slicked back hair and a trimmed beard, playing the part of a respectable, intelligent records management specialist in the local government.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice coming out sharp and direct despite the nervous tension gripping my body.