Page 52 of Wisteria and Cloves

I tried to follow his instructions, my chest tight with panic. The shattered bowl—my mother's voice echoing in my head—the inevitable punishment that would follow.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'll clean it up. I'll replace it. Please don't—"

"Lilianna," Julian's voice cut through my spiral, gentle but firm. "Look at me. It's just a bowl. Nothing that can't be replaced."

Christopher appeared at Julian's shoulder, his face etched with concern. "It's my fault—I should have shown you a better way to handle it."

Miles was already sweeping up the broken pieces, his movements calm, “It is easy to clean up and replace. Not a big deal.”

My brain wasn’t able to follow, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes as my breathing started to pick up again.

"Lilianna," Julian's voice was gentle but firm, his thumbs brushing tears from my cheeks. "No one is angry. No one is going to punish you. I need you to believe that."

I struggled to process his words, my body still braced for the cutting remarks, the disappointed sighs, the cold silence that would have followed such a mistake in my parents' home.

"But I ruined everything," I whispered, unable to look at the mess I'd created.

Christopher knelt beside Julian, close enough that I could see the genuine concern in his gray eyes. "You haven't ruined anything. The dough is still perfectly fine on the counter, and we have plenty more bowls." His voice softened. "Baking disasters are part of the learning process. I once dropped an entire cheesecake face-down on the kitchen floor right before a dinner party."

"It probably cost a lot. I’m sorry…” I started again, the tears flowing freely now.

"It was a five-dollar bowl from a thrift store," Christopher said gently. "Not a family heirloom, I promise."

Miles had already finished sweeping up the larger pieces and was now wiping the floor with a damp cloth. "All fixed," he said, standing up with a reassuring smile. "No harm done."

I couldn't reconcile their calm reactions with what I'd been taught to expect. In my parents' home, accidents were moral failings, evidence of carelessness that required correction. But these men acted as if breaking things was simply part of existing in the world.

"I don't understand," I whispered, my breathing still uneven. "You're not upset."

Julian's hands remained steady on my face, his eyes never leaving mine. "No, we're not upset. We're concerned about you, not a replaceable object."

Julian's thumbs gently wiping away tears. "What happened just now? Where did you go in your mind?"

I took a shuddering breath, trying to find words for the sudden panic that had overwhelmed me. "My mother... I broke a bottle of perfume once. French, imported. She..." I swallowed hard, the memory still sharp despite the years. "She made me kneel on the broken glass while she explained how expensive it was, how careless I'd been. How an Omega who couldn't be trusted with delicate things would never be suitable for a proper Alpha."

Julian's expression darkened a low and displeased growl leaving him and something dangerous flickering in his hazel eyes before he carefully controlled it. "That was cruel and despicable," he said quietly. "Breaking things by accident doesn't reflect your worth as a person."

Christopher's face had gone pale. "She made you kneel on broken glass?" His voice was barely above a whisper, horror evident in every word.

I nodded, shame burning through me. "She said it would help me remember to be more careful. That the physical reminder would prevent future accidents."

Miles had gone completely still behind us, his green eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "That wasn't discipline, that was abuse.”

Julian's jaw worked as he visibly struggled to control his reaction. "She was wrong, Lilianna. So fundamentally wrong about everything." His thumbs continued their gentle path across my cheeks, wiping away tears with infinite care. "In this house, accidents happen. Things break. We clean up and move on."

Christopher knelt beside us, his gentle eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "The only thing that matters is that you weren't hurt when the bowl broke. Objects are replaceable. You are not."

I struggled to process their reactions, my mind still caught between past conditioning and present reality. "But I wasted your time, your ingredients..."

"Time spent with you is never wasted," Christopher said firmly. "And as for ingredients—" he gestured to the counter where most of our dough still sat untouched, "we haven't lost anything important."

Miles approached slowly, kneeling down beside the others to form a protective semicircle around me. "Would it help to know that I broke three of Christopher's mixing bowls last month trying to make a birthday cake for Julian? And not a single person made me kneel on glass or questioned my worth."

I blinked at him through my tears, trying to imagine Miles—confident, capable Miles—making such a mistake. "Really?"

"Really," Christopher confirmed with a gentle smile. "He also set off the smoke alarm and somehow got batter on the ceiling. We still haven't figured that part out."

A small, reluctant laugh escaped me at the mental image, though my hands were still trembling.

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