I don’t know if it’s my imagination spiraling…or something real.
Either way, it’s starting to seriously freak me out.
Suddenly, Skye stops short.
I’m not paying attention, too caught up in my thoughts, as I trip, crashing down onto my knee.
Pain flares bright and sharp as I hit the ground.
Shit.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” A woman is haphazardly running toward us, apologizing.
I follow her gaze and immediately understand why Skye stopped so abruptly.
A little boy is barreling straight toward her.
“It’s okay!” I call out quickly. “She loves kids.”
Relief floods her face as she helps me to my feet, then instinctively crouches to brush the dirt from my knee. The intimacy of it makes me laugh.
She freezes, hand hovering. “Sorry. It’s probably wildly inappropriate, touching a stranger’s knee. And I’m sorry about my son. He doesn’t quite understand the rules about running up to unfamiliar dogs yet.” She pauses, her eyes suddenly widening. “Oh.”
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head slowly, disbelief written all over her face. “That’s the first time I’ve ever called him my son.”
I glance between her and the little boy, who looks to be at least three.
Confusion must flicker across my face.
“I know how that sounded,” she says quickly. “I promise I’m not a terrible person.” Her gaze softens as she looks at him. “My husband and I just adopted him.”
“Oh.” My heart shifts. “Congratulations.”
She laughs softly. “Sorry. I talk too much when I’m nervous.”
“Don’t worry,” I say with a smile. “He’s adorable.”
“Thank you. I think so too.”
The little boy squeals in delight when Skye rolls over on her back, begging for belly rubs. I take in his bright red hair, green eyes, and freckled face.
“I don’t know if this is inappropriate,” I say carefully, “but he looks just like you.”
She exhales a laugh. “I think we passed the inappropriate threshold already.” She extends her hand. “I’m Sloane. And Jagger is technically my cousin.”
“That explains it. I’m Madeline.”
“He’s the son of my aunt, who is, frankly, a piece of shit. My mom wanted to take him in before he was officially placed, but she lost her job and couldn’t afford it. We couldn’t let him think no one in our family wanted him. So my husband and I applied the moment we were done with our Masters. Twelve months later, it became official.”
I normally wouldn’t pry, but she’s speaking with such openness. “What program?”
“Healing Horizons.”
My heart stutters.
“Horizons?” I repeat faintly.
