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Daniel
Charlotte falls asleep quickly, her petite form somehow looking even smaller under the thick quilt.
The sight of her in my bed causes my chest to flutter, and I don’t fight the smile that creeps onto my face. I embrace the warmth that courses through my heart.
She’s perfect. Tonight was perfect.
I gently brush a few strands of hair from her face. She looks exhausted. It’ll take time, but she needs me just as I need her. I can feel it, see it.
Slowly, careful not to wake her, I lean down and kiss away the tears drying on her cheeks.
“Happy Halloween, baby,” I whisper against her skin.
It physically pains me to leave her, but she needs her rest, and I need to help Michael with any remaining cleanup. It’s the least I can do. Although, if I know my brother, everything is already perfect.
The voices from the ground floor reach me when I step off the first floor, where the rest of my family sleeps.
It seems my mother didn’t go to bed after all.
The living room had been empty when I carried Charlotte through the house, the lights off and doors closed on the family floor.
I thought we had been in the outhouse long enough for my mother to wander off to bed, but perhaps curiosity has tempted her back out.
“What do you mean, nothing?” My mother’s usually calm voice hisses, “I just watched him carry a woman out back like a sack of potatoes!”
Or maybe it’s guilt.
“Potatoes don’t moan that loud.” Michael talks back, and the sudden urge to punch him in the face floods me.
Prick.Charlotte better not hear him talk like that, even if he’s joking.
Silently, I continue down the stairs. I want to listen when I’m the topic of conversation.
“He spoke, Ma. When Daniel first saw her, he spoke.” My brother’s hushed voice is filled with raw emotion, and I feel the pain he has felt over my lost words throughout the years. “Mine. That’s the first word I heard my brother say in eighteen years. And the little fucker hasn’t stopped talking all night,” he tells her, his words ending with a chuckle.
His grin widens when he sees me coming down the stairs.
I raise my brow in challenge to his words, and his chuckle turns into a full laugh. “For you? You were a chatterbox.” He grins at me. “And I’ll do anything necessary to keep it that way,” he swears.
His face sobers after a minute, and I step around my mother, the three of us now standing close.
Michael’s eyes meet mine, his stare fierce. “You want Charlie?” he asks before giving me a sharp nod. “She’s yours.”
“Charlotte,” I correct, my tone as sharp as my scratchy throat will allow, too unused to sounds passing through it.
Our mother’s gasp fills the space between us, her tear-filled eyes glued to my face, searching for something.
Whatever it is, she finds it. I watch as my mother, the woman who saved my brother and me, who gave us a second chance in life, nods resolutely, her lips pinching to stop her chin from quivering.
After a few short breaths, she walks toward me, stopping when I tower over her. My mother’s warm hands embrace either side of my face.
“You love her.”
It’s not a question, yet I nod to show her I do.
“Does she love you?”
I pause, not wanting to answer. To lessen the pain in my chest, I shake my head, not wanting to say the word aloud.
