“Jesus on a cracker. If the boys don’t know, I’m going to assume—”
“I gave her up for adoption.”
The words taste like ash on my tongue, and the soft tears turn into sorrowful sobs. Tears and tears come now that I’m not trying to hold back, and poor Anne has to sit beside me, rubbing my back. She murmurs reaffirming things, soft words about a future without pain, but I know in my gut this will never end. Not when I gave up Mirasol.
“Grandpa told me I wasn’t going to be a good mother. I never had one, you know? A mother,” I tell this stranger.
“Oh, sweetie.” Something is so tender about her tone that I lift my eyes to hers, trying to soak in all the tenderness she’s giving away. “I understand. But mother to mother?”
The title makes my heart sour, and my whole soul latches onto it. I want to be a mother so bad, more tears fall, and I just nod, waiting for her next words.
“You don’t need a good example at home to be a good mother. All you have to do is love her. And from where I’m standing, it looks like you do.”
More tears surface, and my shoulders shake as I cry. Anne let me have my moment, only occasionally telling me it’s all going to be okay. I don’t challenge the notion. Instead, I hold that hope in my heart, even if I know I’ll only be okay if I get my daughter back.
“I’m going to have to insist that you stay a little longer.”
“Someone needs to take care of the chickens.” I sniffle.
Anne smiles. “So maybe we can make sure the boys know how to take care of you. Was it a section or natural?”
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Natural.”
“So you’re probably healed, but I’d like to check you out. You need good food and care, Veda. You shouldn’t be helping with the ranch.”
“All I do is feed the animals,” I lie. For some stupid reason, I don’t want her to know her son made me shovel shit.
“Still. They should be helping you heal.”
I shake my head. “It’s not their fault. I never told them.”
She nods, thankfully not asking why I would prefer to feed animals in this state than tell the truth. Maybe my tears are enough of an explanation for her, but I’m glad she doesn’t go into it.
“Do you have a super sense of smell because you’re a midwife?” I ask dumbly. “I never heard of that.”
I obviously don’t believe this, but she’s the first person who could tell what I was going through. The method she has is foolproof, whatever it is.
“No. It’s not exactly that.”
“You said something about my scent. Jesse told me about it. He said he can smell me and…” My cheeks burn, and I trail off.
Anne chuckles. “He said that? And did he care to explain anything else?”
“No.”
He kissed me, or I kissed him. There was kissing, and I’m still dizzy after that, but I don’t say anything. Anne looks around in thought, nodding to whatever thoughts she keeps locked in her head. I’m tired of looking at everything like it’s a puzzle I don’t have any pieces to put together. I take Anne’s hand, calling her attention back to me.
“I’ve been through a lot in the past couple of weeks, and I’m too exhausted to figure it out by myself. Please be honest with me. What’s going on here?”
She squeezes my hand in hers. Maybe she can hear the plea in my voice because she actually tells me, though it makes no sense to me.
“Oh, honey. You’re an Omega.”
twenty
Veda
“Idon't know what that is.”
