Page 71 of Child of Mine

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HENRY

I seem to have worn my daughter out again. To me, it’s a good thing that she biked so hard while Ribsy and I jogged that she falls asleep on the way home, but from the look on Bella’s face when I carry her upstairs, I’ve screwed up somehow.

She may be giving me the cold shoulder, but she gets Lilah changed into pajamas and tucked into bed with more patience than I can imagine mustering. When she closes the bedroom door, I follow her into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry if it’s a problem that I’m wearing her out. She seems to love acting as my so-called trainer, and she had Ribsy and me running for a half hour while she—”

Bella holds up a hand and interrupts me. “It’s fine, Henry.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Bella, come on. I can tell something’s up.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’ll cry.”

“Can I just give you a hug?”

She frowns, which at least brings us back to normal. “I thought we weren’t doing that.”

I hold up a hand. “You said you wanted to keep things simple.”

“Which nothing ever is,” she says on a sigh so deep it breaks my heart.

“Bella, I—”

“You know what? Maybe you should just take Lilah and move her in with your perfect family down in North Carolina.” She flaps a hand out to the side. “She won’t have her childhood home for much longer and neither will I, so—”

“Whoa, whoa, what is going on? Is Doris kicking you out?”

Pacing the length of the small kitchen, hands in fists, she spits out, “She’s sold the shop and the building. We can’t live here anymore.”

I can tell she’s trying to hang onto anger. I do it myself when I’m trying not to cry. I’m not sure which feeling is worse, but I want her to be comfortable sharing both with me, so I just hold my breath.

Spinning to face me, her expression anguished, she says, “Lilah’s favorite thing in the world is the Saturday story time. It’s the place she shines. If she doesn’t have that—” She breaks off, lips clamped together, and shakes her head.

“Can I please give you a hug? I know it won’t solve the problem, but…”

After a long, stubborn pause, she shrugs. Taking that as permission, I wrap her in my arms. Her shoulders heave, and she finally lets go. I do my best to just hold on and let her cry, but it literally hurts my heart for her to be in pain.

I have no idea what to do with the feeling.

Eventually, she lets out a long, shuddery breath. When she steps out of my embrace, I let her go. The emptiness I’m left with? Even worse than feeling her grief.

“Ugh.” Pointing to my shirt, she grabs a box of tissues from the counter, takes one, and gives me the rest. While she blows her nose, I dab at the mess she left behind on my shirt.

Grimacing at the wet spot, she says, “I’m so sorry.”

The tissues don’t do much to dry my shirt, and I have to laugh. “You’ve been storing those up for some time.”

“I guess I have.” She blows out a breath and scans the kitchen like she wants to do dishes or sweep the floor or something. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to be Supermom. Let me help.”

She coughs out a half-laugh. “I’m hardly a supermom. I’m just hanging on by a thread.”

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