Adventures and Dramas in the Nursery

Chapter 9

As the clock struck lunchtime, Autumn drifted back into the office. She sank into her chair with a heavy sigh, her exhaustion palpable as she closed her eyes, relishing the first moment of tranquillity she had experienced all morning.

Marjorie, ever observant, couldn't help but comment on Autumn's demeanour. "Surely the pre-schoolers weren't that bad," she remarked, her tone laced with a hint of amusement.

Autumn threw a glare towards Marjorie, her mind preoccupied with weightier matters. "Marjorie, believe me, I've got more on my mind than preschoolers right now," she replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of weariness and underlying tension.

It was then that Marjorie realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn't a moment for casual banter; it was a time for serious discussion and support, this wasn't something that they could deal with alongside the normal day-to-day goings on of work.

"How did my brother take it?" Autumn inquired tentatively, her facade of indifference faltering slightly as she revealed her hidden concern.

Marjorie met her gaze with a small, sympathetic smile. "He was overwhelmed... and convinced that he could've prevented it," she replied softly, recognising the turmoil that Reese was undoubtedly experiencing.

Autumn's frustration simmered beneath the surface, directed not at Reese, but at their shared past and the father who had left a trail of destruction in his wake. "That's absurd," she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "He wasn't there. He didn't know. There was nothing he could do to prevent that."

Marjorie nodded in understanding, her expression conveying both empathy and exasperation. "I've told him that," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "But given that you two refuse to talk about your feelings to any extent, all I can do is reassure him."

Autumn rolled her eyes at Marjorie's thinly veiled critique, her frustration momentarily overshadowed by a sense of resignation. "Winter is being the strong one, but it's bothering him," she admitted, her words heavy with concern. "I can't tell if it's what my father said or my reaction. Probably a mixture. But I know he just wants us to get married without any drama."

As she absently fidgeted with her ringless finger, Marjorie found herself nodding in agreement, her thoughts drifting to her own experiences with familial expectations and unspoken burdens. "Yeah," she murmured softly. "I get that."

The office air hung heavy with unspoken tension, the weight of expectation and unresolved emotions pressing down on both women.

With a sigh, Autumn leaned back in her chair, her thoughts drifting back to the events that had unfolded earlier that week. Memories, both painful and poignant, danced at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure.

"It's just... everything feels so complicated right now," Autumn confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought we had moved past all of this, but it's like... the past never really goes away, you know?"

Marjorie nodded sympathetically, her own experiences with family dynamics resonating deeply with Autumn's words. "I know exactly what you mean," she replied softly. "Sometimes it feels like we're all just trying to outrun our pasts, but they have a way of catching up with us when we least expect it."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant hum of parent beginning to park outside.

"We'll get through this," Marjorie said finally, her voice infused with quiet determination. "Together."

Autumn offered another glare, tinged with a flicker of gratitude.. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice steady despite the lingering uncertainty. "Together."