Love Is A Miracle

Chapter 32

Nichelle's POV 

The house was too quiet. 

Zach had taken Ariana to his office for a virtual meeting, bouncing her in that little baby wrap thing like he'd been doing it for years already. I stayed in the living room, pretending to clean but mostly moving things around just to keep my hands busy.    

Every time I paused for too long, the guilt crept back in.
The anger.
The confusion.
The betrayal.
The responsibility.
All of it layered on top of each other until I felt breathless.

"Niche?"

I looked up, my mom was standing in the doorway, purse on her shoulder, coat halfway unzipped like she was debating whether she should even come in.

She looked nervous.
Which was a first.

"You okay if I come sit with you?" she asked softly.

I hesitated, suddenly feeling ten years old again. "Yeah... I guess."

She walked over, sat beside me, and angled her whole body in my direction, the way moms do when they're about to see straight through you.

"You've been quiet."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

I clenched my jaw "Mom, please don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," she said gently. "I'm checking on my daughter."

I pushed a breath out through my nose. "I just need a second. That's all."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. So, take your second. I'll sit here with you."

Silence stretched between us.
Not uncomfortable, but heavy.

And then the pressure in my chest cracked open.

"I'm mad," I whispered.

My mother didn't speak, she only turned her hand palm-up between us, waiting for me to take it and I did.

"I'm mad at her," I continued, voice trembling. "Not the baby, Vanessa. I'm mad that she did this. That she kissed my husband. That she tried to ruin my life. That she still did, even from jail."

My mom said nothing, her thumb brushing my knuckles.

"And I'm scared," I admitted, blinking fast. "I'm scared that I'm not ready to have someone else's baby in my house. I'm scared that people are gonna judge me for not instantly playing stepmom. I'm scared that no matter how innocent she is... something in me is gonna resent the situation every time I look at her."

My throat closed, and before I knew it, my voice cracked.

"And I hate that."

My mom exhaled slowly.

"Baby... of course you feel that way," she said softly. "You went through trauma. You went through betrayal. You were put into something without your consent. And now you're expected to adjust in twenty-four hours?"
She shook her head.
"That's not fair."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"I want to love her," I whispered. "I do. She didn't ask to be here."

"She didn't," my mom agreed. "But you didn't ask for this either."

I looked at her, surprised by how firm her tone was, not judgmental, just protective.

"You're allowed to feel everything you feel," she continued. "You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to be confused. You're allowed to take your time. Nothing about this makes you a bad wife or a bad woman. You hear me?"