Page 35 of Bragg's Christmas

There’s no chance of keeping the smile on my face now. I know the parents and guardians of young children are allowed to escort children to their classroom. I remember my dad taking me to school every day when I was Skye’s age.

Skye clutches my hand. “No! Me want Nanny Love.”

I kneel down in front of her. “It’s okay. Debbie will go with you.”

“No.” She stomps her foot. “You!”

“It’s fine,” Mrs. West says. “I’ll show you the way.”

I don’t bother reminding her I know the way. We walk in silence through the halls bustling with students rushing to make it to their classrooms on time.

“Hazel,” Mrs. West greets the teacher, “meet our newest student, Skye.”

Skye hides behind my legs. “I’m sorry, Hazel. Skye isn’t usually shy.”

“It’s fine.” Hazel kneels in front of Skye. “Hi, Skye. Are you excited for your first day of school?”

Skye peeks around my legs. “Y-y-yes.” Her bottom lip trembles.

I unhook her hands from my leg and kneel next to her teacher. “You’re going to have the best time. I bet you get to paint and play and …” I trail off since I don’t remember what children do in kindergarten.

“And we’re currently reading Dr. Seuss,” Hazel fills in.

“Dr. Seuss?” Skye inches forward. “Who’s Dr. Seuss?”

Hazel stands. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“Okay.”

The teacher holds out her hand and Skye grasps it.

“She didn’t say goodbye,” I murmur as I watch them join the circle of students.

Mrs. West pats my shoulder. “They usually don’t.”

I grin at her and she drops her hand.

“Of course, Skye isn’t your child.”

Pain shoots through me at the reminder that I will never have a child of my own. I open my mouth to lash out at the principal. It’s usually what I do when I’m hurt or angry.

But I’m not going to do what I usually do anymore. No more lashing out at people to cause them pain when I’m in pain.

“Skye is a wonderful child,” I say instead.

“And beautiful.”

I roll my eyes as I follow her out of the classroom. “Naturally, she’s a Bragg.”

“The poor boys of this town won’t know what hit them once the Bragg girls are older.”

“I doubt any of the Bragg brothers are going to let their girls date until they’re in their twenties.”

“It’s not a bad policy,” she murmurs.

She’s not referring to her daughters. No, she let her five girls run wild when they were young.

She must be referring to me. Because I’m not as good as her girls. I have to lock my jaw to stop myself from making a snarky response.

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