Page 33 of Where Broken Wings Fly

Wrapping an arm around my waist, Lola helps me climb the staircase, dodging discarded shoes, woollen hats and the odd Wellington boot. Despite the pristine design of the cabin, it’s littered with enough clutter for a whole family.

“How many people live here?” I ask, breathing hard.

“Just me in this cabin, but we have dozens of families spread throughout Briar Valley. Most of them treat this place as their home too. That’s how I like it.”

“Do you have any other children?”

Helping me hobble down a hallway painted a calming shade of light blue that contrasts the dark, wooden floorboards, Lola casts me an uncertain look.

“No. Didn’t your father talk about me?”

“Not so much. We didn’t have a great relationship,” I admit. “When he died, I thought I had no family left.”

“Christ,” she curses, opening the last door on the left. “Things are a little complicated where your father is concerned, Willow. We have a lot to talk about.”

I limp into the guest bedroom, breathing in the scent of fresh, crisp linens and waxed wood from the floorboards. It’s painted a comfortable shade of light cream, and the furniture matches the rest of the cabin—basic but comfortable.

Lola walks past me and fusses over the bed, smoothing non-existent creases. I spot the duffel bag that’s been placed next to the wardrobe. It survived my tumble in the woods. Panicked, I grit my teeth and bend down to search inside.

Our fake passports and meagre supply of cash are where I left them. We have a few personal items, but no clothes or toiletries. I couldn’t afford to spook Mr Sanchez by packing anything that might’ve given our plan away.

Arianna’s baby box rests at the bottom of the bag, safe and sound. It’s light enough to lift out, and I inspect the carved box for any signs of damage. It looks a little dented from the fall, but nothing irreparable.

“What’s that?” Lola eyes the box.

I pass it over to her to look inside. “Arianna’s baby box.”

Both sitting down on the edge of the bed, we look over the collection of random items. A blonde curl, tied with a silky, blue ribbon. Her first pair of shoes—tiny baby sandals, perfect for the Mexican heat. I even have a single cotton sock.

Mr Sanchez fired his housekeeper after he spotted her helping me put the box together. He didn’t like his staff getting close to us. I wasn’t to be seen or acknowledged by any of them, and they all knew the rules.

Pedro was the only one who treated me like a normal human being, but he was careful with his affection. I’ll never forget the first time he spoke to me, daring to ask if I was okay while I nursed a badly sprained wrist.

He should be here.

This is his victory.

“How much did she weigh?” Lola breaks my thoughts.

“Uh, a little over seven pounds. She was a home birth. I delivered her myself.”

“You did?” She gapes at me.

Shit!

“I mean, things happened so quickly,” I rush to alleviate her concern. “We didn’t have time to find a hospital before she arrived.”

Lola returns to inspecting the items. My breath hisses from between my teeth. I need to think before I speak. The cruelness of my life is normal to me after so long, but not to the rest of the world. I can’t let the truth slip out like that.

“We’ve had many home births here.” Lola closes the box. “Miranda and Doc’s third baby was actually born downstairs. He delivered it himself. It was such a beautiful day.”

I stash the box back in my bag. “It’s nice that you’re all so close. I’ve always wanted a big family.”

Lola chuckles with mirth. “Careful what you wish for, Willow. Things get very rowdy around here, but that’s how we like it. You’ll see.”

“I guess so.”

“Do you need anything else?” she fusses, looking around the room. “I’ll find some clothes for you to wear. The bathroom is next door, and towels are in the wardrobe.”

---