Page 41 of Sinful Bride

I close my eyes with a sigh. “Pasha?—”

“—is very worried about you. As am I! That’s why I’m here.” Mel boops Taty on her button nose with the tip of her finger. “And also to spoil my niece. I brought gifts.”

“Of course you did.”

“I wouldn’t be a good auntie if I didn’t. But I’m mainly here to be a good sister. It sounds like you’ve been drowning.”

I roll my eyes, more at myself than anyone else. “That’s putting it lightly. It feels like I’ve been crying since she left my body. I’ve cried every single day. I want to cry right now, but I’m all dried up and my eyes hurt.”

Mel scrunches her face. “Yeah. You’re looking a little puffy.”

I stare at her. She stares back.

Neither of us can hold back the laughter for long. “Shut up,” I groan. “I’m just hormonal.”

“It sounds like you're depressed.” She props her head up on her elbow, still playing with Taty with her other hand. “Have you thought about seeing a specialist?”

“I’m so over specialists. I saw a specialist for breastfeeding, and a whole lot of good that did me. I nearly starved my child.”

“Only because you’re too stubborn for both your good.”

I damn near sit up straight. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Melanie stares me down, completely serious. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you don’t have any way, any way at all, to feed your baby.”

“I don’t want to put her on formula. I can make the milk myself.”

“And what if you can’t?”

I’m suddenly done with this conversation. I sit up straighter and turn away from her, feigning a need to grab my robe. “I can. I just have to keep trying.”

“How long will she survive while you keep trying?”

Something icy cold sinks in my gut. I turn around to glare at her. “How dare you?”

“No. Not this time. How dare you? Acting like Mom and trying to get away with it.”

That line feels like a slap to my face. I’m physically taken aback. Regret flashes in her eyes, but she holds her ground. Just like she always does when she thinks she knows so much.

“I am not Mom?—”

“Say it again.”

I pause. “I’m not Mom.”

Mel reaches over Taty to squeeze my hand. “Again. Say it again. Slower.”

“I… am not…” A different kind of lump forms in my throat. Tears well in my eyes. “I’m not Mom,” comes out in a whisper.

And that’s when I break.

I cry, and cry, and cry. The bedroom door opens, and Asya tiptoes in to take Taty away for some quality sister time. At least, that’s what I think she says. I’m too busy bawling.

Mel crawls across the bed and wraps her arms around me tight. “Shhh. I know. I know. Let it all out. It’s okay.”

Another hand warmly squeezes my leg. It’s Asya, still here, gazing at me with so much warmth and compassion. She holds Taty in her other arm, who watches me with interested eyes.

“I don’t… I don’t…” I don’t want to cry every time there’s a light breeze, goddammit. “I don’t want to be Mom. I love my baby!”

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