Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Because here’s the truth: the worst part of wanting something you don’t think you deserve isn’t the emptiness. It’s the hope. The aching kind that flickers every time someone’s kind to you and then fades because, deep down, you’re still bracing for it to disappear.
We finish the cleanup with easy banter, moving around each other like teacups on a fairground ride, until everything is packed away and wiped down. When we’re done, Cody glances at the clock, then at me.
“You ever need to talk,” he says, “about Levi, or anything else, I’m around.”
Then he tips his head and slips out through the mudroom door.
I’m left standing in a spotless kitchen, surrounded by the smell of apple muffins, bacon, and the very real weight of not being enough.
13
HARRISON
The house is bustling when I slip into the den with my mug of black coffee and a full belly. The clock says seven-fifty-six, meaning I’m four minutes ahead of schedule. Good. The big rectangular table is already set with reading primers on one side, math worksheets on the other, and pencils lined up like soldiers.
Routine is the only thing that keeps this place from descending into absolute madness.
The others run on instinct, but me? I run on structure, order, and measurable outcomes.
The den was a sitting room before I converted it. It still smells faintly of old books and leather polish, a compromise between what it was and what I need it to be. A space to teach. A space to keep order.
I sip the coffee slowly, scanning my notebook: agriculture rotations, profit margins on hay this quarter, the breeding schedule for the cattle. This is what I went to college for. It isn’t glamorous, but essential. I’m the only one of us who bothered to stay in school because someone had to.
Homeschooling the kids? That was never in my plan. But after we lost our parents, and then Nana and Pop, too, and the kids all ended up motherless, somebody had to step up.
The clock ticks over to eight, and, like clockwork, little footsteps start pattering down the stairs. First to arrive is Junie, who’s dressed but still dragging a blanket. Then Matty pokes his head around the door in a Spider-Man shirt. Eli appears, scowling as usual. Rory arrives with Corbin, half-asleep, with wild curls, and his favorite plushy gripped tight in his pudgy hand. Corbin passes him to me and then leaves without a backward glance. He loves these kids, but he needs some time to himself and appreciates the routine. The twins thunder in last, arguing loudly about who gets to sit by the window.
The chaos bleeds into this room for a minute, and I suppress a sigh, clapping my hands once. “Seats. Now.”
They scramble, and my nerves drop down a notch until there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Mind if I help?”
I turn and find Grace in the doorway, complete with a messy bun, a too-big flannel shirt knotted at her waist, and her ridiculously expressive hazel eyes bright despite the early hour. There’s no hesitation in her stance. No awareness that she’s walking into my sanctuary and about to disrupt the order I’ve fought so hard to forge.
I force my expression to be neutral. “You want to help?”
She shrugs. “Figured it would give me a chance to get to know you, and I can wrangle a room of kids with one hand tied behind my back. Thought I’d offer.”
I hesitate. Hard. My whole body resists it. I don’t need a variable, and I don’t need her.
But Conway said to give her access and let her observe and interact, so I exhale through my nose and step aside.
“Fine. You can sit.”
She flashes me a bright smile and plops down on the carpet, cross-legged, right at the kids’ level. I watch her warily.
Grace doesn’t fit my model. She doesn’t follow the rules. There’s an energy about her I don’t trust. It fizzes at the edges, unpredictable and a little too bright this early in the morning. The breakfast she made was delicious, but who does that? She’s a guest journalist in this house, and she felt comfortable enough to raid our fridge and cupboards to cook a meal. That isn’t normal. We’ve had women come and join our household with a view to staying who’ve been less comfortable with wading into the fray.
Junie immediately scoots over to lean against Grace. Matty grins and flops down next to her with all the subtlety of a small freight train. Even Eli, who barely tolerates me on good days, watches her with cautious interest.
I clear my throat. “We follow a set structure in this room. Reading, then numbers, then independent work.”
“Got it, Professor.”
My brow twitches. “I’m not a professor.”
Grace tilts her head, eyes glinting. “You sure? You’ve got the energy for it. All we need is a chalkboard and some of those dramatic elbow patches. Maybe some sandals over your socks.”