Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
My fingers on the shovel tightening, I picked up the first scoop of earth and began to fill the hole while Sara knelt on the icy ground. When I was done, I released a deep breath. Liliana touched Sara’s shoulder. “Come. You’ll catch a cold.”
Sara gave her a look that made it clear she had half a mind to lie down beside the grave and not get up.
I clenched my fingers around the handle of the shovel.
“Come, love,” Liliana said again, and this time, she managed to pull Sara to her feet. Slowly, Sara dragged her gaze up from the grave, and our eyes locked. My grip on the shovel tightened even more at the deep pain in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
I gave a terse nod.
“I think Sara will spend the night with us,” Liliana said.
I had expected it, so I nodded again. I could feel Mom’s eyes on me, but I didn’t return her gaze.
“You can have our spare car,” Mom said. “The keys are in the ignition. It’s the red truck.”
I was relieved I wouldn’t have to give them a ride home. I could tell Sara wanted to be with her parents.
Romero, Liliana, and Sara left together, but I stayed beside the grave, supporting my weight on the handle of the shovel. The cold had penetrated my body. I couldn’t even feel my fingers or toes anymore, but I didn’t want to leave yet. It was utterly silent around us—no chirping birds, no barking, and no sounds from the nearby road. It was as if life had ground to a halt at that moment, and it seemed only fitting.
Mom approached me. She was wrapped in her thickest winter coat and UGG boots, and still shivered due to the unrelenting cold. She touched my hand. “Let’s go in. I’ll make us an Irish coffee and warm up some cinnamon cookies.”
Dad pried the shovel from my cold fingers. “Listen to your mother.”
“I should head back home. I have to work in two hours. The ride will be excruciatingly long in rush hour.”
“You won’t go to work today. Luca will understand,” Mom insisted.
I laughed bitterly. “I’m an Enforcer, Mom. Do you think a bit of flesh and blood will bring me to my knees?” My heart clenched at my words, but I kept glaring at my mother, willing my words to become true.
Mom shook her head with a sad smile. “I birthed and raised you. I held you when you cried when you were little. Don’t think I don’t see when you’re breaking inside. If this was how you just described it, you wouldn’t have buried it the way you did. Lie to yourself if it helps you, but I can see the truth!”
I gritted my teeth and looked away. I turned my back on the grave, shoving my fingers into my pant pockets.
Dad gave me a stern look. “I’m still the Head Enforcer, and I’m telling you, you’re not working today. End of story. I’ll handle Luca.”
I stalked back toward the house. The sound of steps crunching told me my parents were right behind me. When I entered the house, warmth flooded my body at once. Bacon pressed up beside me, wagging his tail gently, not his usual boisterous self.
After kicking off my shoes in the mudroom, I headed into the kitchen and sank down on a chair. Bacon leaned against my thigh, and I petted his warm back and head.
Mom came in shortly after me. She didn’t say anything and began to prepare an Irish coffee and the cookies. I watched silently. Mom sat across from me and put her hand on mine. “Things will get better.”
“You believe in Karma, Mom. Maybe this is Karma’s way of paying me back. Nobody would argue that I deserve it.”
Mom gave me a stern look. It was a look that made even Dad pause. “You deserve happiness. End of story.”
It was our first Christmas as a married couple. It should have been our first Christmas as soon-to-be parents and a soon-to-be family. Instead, we were two almost strangers pretending to be more than that.
It’d been three weeks since I’d lost the baby. Three weeks that had opened up a world of pain to me I hadn’t thought possible. Worse than the sadness over what I’d lost were the rare moments when I wondered if maybe there was a good reason for it, that it would make it easier for all of us to forget what had happened. Those brief moments always sent me into a cruel downward spiral of guilt.
“Can you take a look at the Brioche buns for me?” Mom asked, tearing me from my thoughts. I nodded, opened the oven, and reached for the baking sheet. I let out a hiss and jerked back as searing pain shot through my fingers.