“She usually begs me to read a story.” I glanced back atMarigold as she turned on her side. “She’s had so much anxiety from such a young age that she’s never been the adventurous type, but I think her books are how she lives out her fantasies.”
“She’ll have her adventures one day,” Clarissa murmured, straightening and backing out into the hallway.
With one last look at Marigold, I followed and shut the door with a softsnick. We stood there, the narrow space barely leaving room for the two of us. My shadow encompassed Clarissa as she pressed her back into the wall. My eyes trailed from her neck down to her waist. I remembered what it felt like to grip her there, to have her legs wrapped around me, her warm breath on my skin.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come in,” I said.
“Then why did you?” she whispered, eyes searching mine.
I felt myself giving in, felt that undeniable pull that always emerged around her. I slowly placed my palm on the wall at her head and leaned down, my fingers burning with the urge to hold her again. She angled her head up to me and parted her lips.
A soft whimper behind the closed door at my back made me pause, followed by a muffled cry of “Mommy!”
I let out a breath, my shoulders sagging. “It’s the nightmares,” I said. “They happen sometimes, and she…she doesn’t know how to handle them. How to tell the difference between them and real life.” I pushed off from the wall and turned to open the door, finding my daughter thrashing in the blankets. She kept calling for her mother with terrified whines, her little chest heaving.
Clarissa put a hand on my arm when I moved toward the bed. “Can I try?”
I looked between her and Marigold, then cleared my throat and nodded. She padded across the floor and climbed in on the other side of the bed. Marigold’s arm swung out as she cried. Clarissa scooted in next to her and cradled her head against her chest, running a hand down Marigold’s bronze hair.
“It’s okay, sweet girl,” she whispered, gently rocking from side to side. I had to strain to hear her next words as Marigold’s moansrose and fell. “You’re safe. Your daddy is safe. The nightmares aren’t real, I promise.”
“I want my mommy,” Marigold whimpered, her eyes screwed shut to where I couldn’t tell if she was still asleep or not.
It felt like an arrow was digging beneath my ribs. The backs of my eyes burned as I watched her cry, knowing there was nothing I could do.
“I know, I know,” Clarissa repeated in her soft voice. She pulled Marigold closer to her. “I bet your mommy loved youso much, Marigold. Do you want to know what mine used to do when I got scared?” Clarissa paused, and Marigold let out another sniff.
A few seconds later, Clarissa began humming a quiet melody I’d never heard before. The hums turned to soft words as she sang my daughter back to sleep. It was a beautiful lullaby about green meadows and sweet dreams in the stars. Marigold’s body slowly relaxed, her moans becoming fewer and farther between as she settled back into sleep.
I stared at them for what felt like hours. Clarissa’s gentle hands swept up and down Marigold’s side, a small smile forming on her lips when she looked down at her. Clarissa’s shoulders rose in surprise when Marigold turned toward her, burying her head in her side.
It was beautiful.
It was painful.
It was like something bursting in my chest, spreading instant warmth that turned to lead, sucking the air from my lungs. I took a step back and out the door to try and catch my breath.
The bed shifted with a subtle creak, then Clarissa appeared at my side, carefully shutting the door. Her brows pinched together as she faced me. “I’m sorry, Thorne. I just wanted to help.”
I shook my head. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I…” She trailed off and licked her lips, a shyness I wasn’t used to seeing now bleeding onto her features. “I’m not her mother. And I—I wasn’t trying to be. I know how the nightmares can be, how scary it is to lose a parent. But I’d never try to?—”
I let out a breath that released some of the tension building in my spine. “No, Clarissa. That’s not what I thought at all. Please don’t apologize. It’s not—” I scrubbed a hand down my face. “It was exactly what she needed. Thank you.”
“Then why did you look so upset?” she asked. She reached out a hand and threaded her fingers through mine, and I was so distracted by the display of affection that I didn’t take time to overanalyze my words.
“Because it’s hard to watch,” I blurted out. “It’s hard to watch something I can never give her back. And it’s hard to watchyouwith her, knowing we both need you. Knowing that…”
You’re leaving us.
I didn’t finish the thought. I swallowed the words and squeezed her fingers.
“She’ll be okay,” she said. “She’s a strong little girl. She’ll get through it, even if she’ll always carry some of the loss with her. And she has so much love in her life, Thorne.” She raised her other hand to my cheek, soft fingers skimming my beard. “You’re everything she needs.”
But what about whatIneed?
I merely nodded, the emotion clogging my throat making it difficult to respond. I dropped her hand but my fingers traveled up her arm, stopping when I reached where the cloak was clasped around her neck.
