Page 23 of Yours Until Forever

That doesn’t earn me another eye roll but close to it. “It’s a good thing it was also on the receiving end of your mercy then. Whatever would we have done without your assistance?”

A laugh barks out of me, and I can’t remember the last time a woman caused that. “You’d probably have set the place on fire by now. You’re lucky I showed up when I did.”

Her reaction isn’t immediate. First, it’s the twitch of her lips, like she’s fighting to hold it in. Then comes the spark in her eyes, like she’s seconds from losing the battle. And finally, her laughbreaks free, soft and real, hitting me like a clean shot to the place I swore I’d locked up for good.

“Mommy!” Sarah’s voice breaks the moment, dragging Amelia’s eyes from me. “I want my book!” She plants her feet, folds her arms tight, and lifts her chin defiantly, every ounce of her radiating six-year-old fury and royal injustice.

“And you know why you can’t have your book, Sarah,” Amelia says, not giving an inch. “Now, please go to your room and take ten minutes to calm down.”

Her tone is firm enough that Sarah scowls, lips pushed out in a dramatic pout, then backs down and stomps off in the direction her mother pointed.

Amelia tilts her head back and inhales a long breath. As she releases it, she looks at me. “You and Luna should stay for dinner.”

“To protect Sarah from harm?”

Her laughter is immediate this time. “Yes. Who knows what I’ll do to her if you’re not around to stop me.”

We take a moment, just watching each other, and then I smile. “We’d love to.” I turn to Luna who’s still composing her villain theme, surely contributing to the headache I suspect Amelia has. “Sweetheart, that’s enough now. Go wash your hands for dinner please.”

“And please tell Sarah to wash hers, too,” Amelia calls after her.

Once we’re alone, I assess Amelia. “How bad’s the headache?”

Her fingers absently find her temple again. “I’m okay.”

“Says the woman who looks like she just survived a war.”

She nods slowly and I swear I see a wall coming down as she practically begs, “Tell me you survive wars too. I need to know I’m not doing everything wrong.”

“Fuck, sometimes I survive more than one a day.” I pause before adding, “You’re not doing anything wrong, Amelia. You’re the best mother I know.”

She blinks. Then stares at me for a long moment that stretches between us, fragile but charged. Neither of us move. Neither willing to be the one to look away or speak first, and fuck if I don’t want to reach out and tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear just to see if she’d let me.

But I don’t.

Instead, I hold her gaze and let her have the space to decide what to do with whatever just passed between us.

“Thank you,” she finally says, her voice soft and raw with emotion, like tears are threatening. “I needed to hear that.”

I want to kick her ex’s ass for not being the one to make sure she knows that. For not telling her every goddamn day that she’s a phenomenal mother.

I shift gears because she’s looking at me like I just pulled the pin on a grenade of emotions inside her. And fuck, I get it. Sometimes we just need a moment to pull ourselves back together. “Go round up the girls.” I keep my voice steady. “I’ve got the rest of dinner handled.”

She hesitates for only a second before nodding and slipping out of the kitchen, leaving me with a million thoughts I never saw coming and am not sure I’m ready for.

We all survive dinner,though I can see that Amelia’s had a rough day and that her daughter is pushing all her buttons. So, I take charge, directing the conversation with the girls, getting them talking about the project they’re collaborating on for the science fair.

Amelia’s the reason this weather project isn’t a total mess. She’s the one who helped steer them into choosing a weather forecasting project rather than one of the usual experiments kids this age love. And the one who has helped them come up with some great ideas. They’re tracking weather patterns like tiny meteorologists in training, and will present their own forecast at the fair, complete with charts and a “live report.” It’s smart, fun, and just enough chaos to keep kids engaged.

As we’re clearing the table after dinner, Luna announces, very dramatically, hands flying like she’s the star of a show, “I’m gonna pretend there’s a giant storm coming that will blow all the playground equipment away.”

Sarah frowns. “But that’s not what we’re predicting. There’s no storm coming.”

“It’s for the video,” Luna says, clearly exasperated that this needs explaining. “I’ll do the serious weather voice too. Like this”—she clears her throat—“A storm is coming... and only the brave will survive!”

Sarah looks at her like she’s deeply concerned. “I think I should say the science stuff first. Then you can doyour thing.”

Amelia snorts quietly and our eyes meet. A silentthis is going to be funpasses between us.

---