[[OLD]] A Handful of Daffodils (Forgotten Series, #7)

Chapter Three

I stared down at my little Maeve as she slept in her crib. She looked so much like her mother, my beloved Chrissie, she was only seven weeks old but I could see my mate in her. It was her little nose and her big eyes that were a direct reflection of Chrissie when she had been young. There was only a little of me in her and I was both thankful and I cursed it at the same time. I wondered if it would have been easier if she looked more like me.

As it was, looking at her was bittersweet.

The loss of Chrissie was heavy ache that not even Maeve could chase away. I had listened to Chrissie pray and beg Mene to spare our baby, to spare our child. I had listened to her worries and her panicked thoughts that we would lose our pup before we could meet her, just like the other females in the pack. The more females there were that lost their babies, the more stressed she had become and the more she prayed.

I had done my best to calm her, to tell her all would be okay, that our little growing future would be fine, would be okay. In the end Mene had listened to us both. Maeve had been born early but healthy, perfectly formed and in perfect health.

She had taken my Chrissie in return.

The pack doctor said he didn't understand it. That the birth had gone smoothly and once Maeve was out, she started to hemorrhage aggressively and nothing he did was able to stop it. So my Chrissie had died on the birthing bed that she had brought Maeve to life on. Less than seven minutes was all it took to lose my female to Mene, to the goddess's fickleness. She gave us what we wanted but she enacted a price that felt far too steep to pay.

I lost my female, a hole was torn in my soul, and our precious little Maeve would grow up never knowing the bright and beautiful female that had loved her more than life itself.

I turned away from her crib, leaving the nursery. I wanted to be better for her, I did, but Chrissie had been everything to me. She had been my light, my moon, my very soul. I looked at the pictures on the walls, her bright smile was a torturous pain to bear witness to knowing I would never see it again but I still looked, still took it in even though it made the black hole inside me expand more, eating and chewing at my ribs and organs.

I was nothing without my female.

Nothing.

I found myself at the liquor cabinet and I pulled out a bottle of whiskey. It was half empty and warm but I didn't care as I pulled the cap off and drank deep. The burn was barely noticeable as I swallowed all I could. I wanted to drown out the pain, fill that aching hole in my chest with something that would at least numb the pain.

I loved my daughter, I did. Maeve was everything to me but it was so hard seeing my Chrissie in her and knowing that it was her or Chrissie and Chrissie was the one who passed. I would never blame her, never. I knew Chrissie would have chosen my little Maeve to survive. It was just hard to come to the realization my daughter had been born into a tragedy far bigger than her tiny little body.

I tried to do right by her, by my Chrissie, but the pain was so hard to deal with at times. It seemed endless and devouring. I knew if I lingered too long within it, it would eat me alive and leave me nothing but a shell. I was struggling to stay afloat, to not sink where I wished to go. My Maeve needed me more than I needed to wallow.

It was just hard. And every day it got harder.

I downed more of the bottle, closing my eyes at the alcohol that burned me. I staggered into the living room, sinking down onto the couch. I had been sleeping on it, unable to bear going into the bedroom my female and I had shared. The room smelled like her still and it was a brutal reminder that I would never again pull her into my arms and hold her close. I drank more and more, not stopping until my head felt both light and heavy, wobbling on my neck as a comforting numbness filled my limbs and chest.