Page 25 of Open Arms

Her laughter was infectious, and I found myself joining in. Maybe this nanny thing wouldn’t be so bad after all. Abigail’s lively spirit was already chasing away the shadows of doubt that had clung to me all day.

A few blocks later, the Victorian house loomed before us, its slightly weathered facade and wide porch beckoning us closer. Abigail tugged on my hand, practically vibrating with excitement. “C’mon, Chloe! I wanna show you my room! I got a new bed and Daddy helped me rearrange my stuffies so it looks different than last time.”

As we stepped inside, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla enveloped me, making the house feel instantly warm and inviting. Antique furniture and soft, well-worn rugs added to the cozy atmosphere. I couldn’t help but feel at ease here. It was a real home, a place where love and laughter echoed through the halls.

Abigail led me up the creaky wooden stairs, her small hand gripping mine tightly. She pushed open the door at the end of the hallway, revealing a her new bed—a canopy, draped in shimmery green and lavender fabric, surrounded by a menagerie of stuffed animals.

“Wow, Abby, your room looks amazing!” I couldn’t help but be charmed by the little girl’s enthusiasm as she proudly showed off her treasures.

She flopped onto the bed, hugging a well-loved teddy bear to her chest. “This is Mr. Snuggles. He keeps me company when Daddy’s working late.”

I sat down beside her, smoothing a hand over the soft fur of the bear. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Snuggles. I’m sure you take great care of Abby.”

Abigail nodded solemnly. “He does. But sometimes I still get lonely.” She looked up at me, her gray eyes wide and trusting. “Will you stay with me, Chloe? Even when Daddy’s not here?”

A lump formed in my throat at the vulnerability in her voice. I knew all too well the ache of feeling alone in the world. In that moment, I silently vowed to be the steady presence Abigail needed, to protect her from the kind of heartache I’d endured. But could I really keep that vow? I didn’t know what the future held.

I pulled her into a gentle hug, resting my chin on top of her curls. “Of course I will, sweetie. I’m always right out back in the cottage. And I’ll be here whenever you need me. That’s what friends are for, right?”

She nestled closer, her small frame relaxing against mine. “Best friends,” she mumbled, her words muffled by my shirt.

My eyes prickled with unshed tears.

As we sat there, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the lace curtains, I felt a sense of belonging settle over me. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t thinking about running from my past or hiding from my scars.

Maybe I was exactly where I was meant to be, holding this precious child and promising her she could count on me.

Abigail pulled back from the hug, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Wanna see my favorite hiding spot?” She bounced on her toes, excitement radiating off her in waves.

I couldn’t help but mirror her smile. “Lead the way, captain!”

She giggled, grabbing my hand and tugging me down the hallway. “It’s in Daddy’s study. He has the best books and the comfiest chair.”

We reached a set of double doors at the end of the hall, and Abigail pushed them open with a dramatic flourish. “Ta-da!”

The study was a book lover’s dream come true. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with hardcovers and worn paperbacks. A massive mahogany desk sat in the center, flanked by two plush armchairs. But it was the window seat that drew my eye—a cozy nook bathed in natural light, piled high with colorful cushions. Who knew a cowboy could have such a magical room in his home?

“Wow,” I breathed, taking it all in. “This is incredible, Abby.”

She beamed up at me, pride shining in her eyes. “Daddy reads me stories here sometimes. And when he’s working, I like to sit and look at the pictures in the books.”

An image flashed through my mind—a tiny Abigail curled up on the window seat, lost in the pages of a fairy tale while Mason worked quietly at his desk. The thought made my heart ache in the best possible way.

“What’s your favorite book, Chloe?” Abigail asked, tilting her head curiously. “Maybe we can read it together sometime.”

I bit my lip, considering. Other than the poetry I read to help process my trauma, I realized I didn’t read much anymore. It had been so long since I’d allowed myself the simple pleasure of getting lost in a story. “You know, I’m not sure. But I would love for you to help me pick a new favorite.”

Her face lit up like I’d just handed her the moon. “Really? Okay!” She darted over to the nearest shelf, running her finger along the spines. “This one has a pretty cover. And ooh, this one has horses in it!”

As I watched her, so full of joy and innocence, I felt the weight of my past begin to lift, ever so slightly. Here, in this moment, I wasn’t broken or scarred. I was just Chloe, the girl lucky enough to be Abigail’s friend.

She picked out a book but immediately put it back. “I don’t really like that one. It’s where a girl loses her mama and she goes on a quest to find her. But she never does.”

“Oh, that sounds sad.” I hoped that wasn’t actually a children’s book, but maybe there was more to the plot.

“Chloe, do you know why my mama isn’t here anymore?” Abigail asked suddenly, her voice small and uncertain.

The question caught me off guard, and I swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “I . . . I don’t, sweetie.”

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