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

Chapter Seventy-Seven

A week later

I turned the page in the book I was reading, trying to read was more like it. I glanced over at Maeve and she was standing with her hands on her toy box, babbling to herself. "Bababababa." She banged the block in her one hand on the edge of the toy box. She glanced over and gave me that toothy smile. "Essa mamamama." She showed me the block and I nodded.

"Yes, it is a block, my love." She giggled at my words and continued to bang it against the edge of her toy box. I knew that Jay and Collin had made my reading nook so I could have my own space and could lock myself away from everyone but I couldn't do that to Maeve so I brought in her toybox so she could be with me while I read. Which I had a lot of selection to choose from. The guys had gotten me a lot of second hand books to fill the built ins they had made me.

I hadn't expected than and had protested for a small second before the guys just gave me a look and continued filling the book shelves. I knew I wouldn't win the argument and those looks ensured I wouldn't even try. It was better to not try at all. Duffy hated that, she really really did.

"Trouble, I'm heading over to my place to check on my casserole." At the called out words from the old female who had been gathering the laundry I nodded. "I'll be taking this mess to the main house, someone will run it through for you and bring it back."

"Okay, Duffy. I'll be here." I normally would have done the laundry myself but I was finding I didn't really leave the house much. Even since Brochan had come to Oblitus I had... I didn't know how to explain it but I didn't want to leave the house. I felt so small and the world was so big and it felt safer when I was home. I couldn't even begin to understand where the feelings had come from but they were there. I felt crippling anxiety when I would try to go outside and I didn't know how to get around it or why it was there at all.

"I'll be back later." Duffy called it out and I could hear the front door close behind her and let out a small sigh as I looked over at Maeve. She was sitting down, chewing on the block she had been banging on her toybox. I wondered, for a moment, if the anxiety was because Maeve was still with me. I hated that thought because my heart would break if she was gone, but a not so small part of me wondered if it was because Brochan didn't have complete access. He denied having her move into the guest house with him, stating that she was settled with me so she would stay with me.

That small tugging sensation in my chest told me it was okay, that I was a great mum to her and that she was so well loved by me but I always pushed it off because I wasn't her mum, Chrissie was. That tugging came right back up and told me Chrissie wouldn't mind but I shoved it down forcefully. I didn't need to have those thoughts in my head. I loved Maeve, I loved her with every fibre of my being but she wasn't mine. I could never replace her mum, just like my mum could never be replaced for me. I never wanted to be in that place. Chrissie was her mum, she loved her so much, I knew she had. I didn't want to step into that spot, I wanted Maeve to know just how much her mum had loved and wanted her.

That tugging turned into a warming sensation that had me frowning and rubbing at my chest, as if that would get rid of the strangeness. A knock on the door to the sun room had me jolting and when I looked up I realized it was Brochan and I swallowed hard. I still didn't know how to react to him or to act around him. I carefully closed my book and stood up. Each movement I made as I moved over to the door to open it was percise, I was aware he was looking at me as I made the short walk.

I opened the door carefully and stepped back. A cold winter's wind followed Brochan as he slipped inside the door and closed it quickly. "Hey." At the greeting I clasped my hands in front of myself and shuffled backwards several steps. I rubbed the front of my belly nervously with my thumb, resisting the urge to pick at the fabric of my shirt.