Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Because now I’m sitting here questioning if I’m selfish for keeping her with me. Would she be better off somewhere else? Living with Abby or another family all together?
“No,” I whisper. “No one can protect her like we can.” If someone were to go after her, they’ll have to get through me. But then again, the chances of something going after her are because of me.
Pandora rubs against my legs, helping me calm down a bit.
“You’re right,” I say when she reminds me Lucas would give me a stern look and then pull me in for a hug, reminding me that I’m doing an amazing job at being a mom. “And he will, once I figure out how to save him.”
I silently eat my food, brush my teeth, and then get into bed. My hand falls on the empty spot next to me, heart aching. Each day that passes makes more and more doubt grow in my mind that things will work out—again. I can only get lucky so many times, and sometimes what is lost stays that way forever.
I’ve just fallen asleep when Juliet wakes up, and I bring her in bed with me. Propping my arms and her little body up with pillows, I lay back and end up falling asleep myself as she nurses.
I don’t wake for nearly an hour, and when I do, it’s in a panic that I suffocated my daughter. But she’s sound asleep, and Freya is snuggled up next to us. Knowing she won’t be able to seamlessly go from my arms to her bassinet, I put her in the swing instead. I crawl back to bed, making it another few hours before having to get up and feed Juliet again.
And again.
And again.
And fucking again not even five minutes after I put her down. I’m exhausted when I go downstairs, giving up on sleep a little after six AM.
“You look like shit,” Eliza says, surprising me when I see her in the kitchen cutting up vegetables.
“Thanks,” I sigh and go to the butler’s pantry to start a pot of coffee. “Any chance you’re making me a veggie pot pie?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I have to eat.”
“Unlike my maker, I don’t cook human food.”
I peer through the doorway, one eyebrow raised. “But you’ll chop up veggies for your pigs?”
“It’s not like they can do this themselves.”
“True.” I adjust Juliet in my arms and add water to my coffee pot. It doesn’t seem like that long ago when desire overtook us and Lucas fucked me right here in this little space. I was still pregnant then and Lucas found my growing belly to be hot, knowing he was the one who knocked me up. Telling myself it’s too early to cry, I go into the family room and spread a blanket on the floor, folding it in half for extra cushion. Luckily, we were able to save a decent amount of the original floorboards, and the ones we had to replace blend in seamlessly. I love the look of the hardwood and the ease of cleaning it, but I’m sure I’ll be wishing for carpet once Juliet starts walking. Luckily, I have months until I need to worry about that.
As I lay Juliet down for tummy-time, Scarlet comes over and lays next to us. I rest my head on her and my eyes almost immediately fell shut. Collectively, I probably got maybe two hours of sleep last night. A regular human would be a walking zombie right now, and trust me, I’m tired as fuck, but I’ll be able to function just fine once I get some coffee.
“Look at you,” I say, forcing my eyes open. “Good, strong baby!”
Juliet lifts her head, eyes wide as she tries to take everything in. I take a few pictures and a video for Lucas and then turn the TV on. Lucas and I had started a new series on Netflix a few days after Juliet was born. I didn’t realize until I had Juliet how much time I’d spend just sitting and holding her, especially since she nurses.
Juliet’s eyes go from the toy I put on the blanket in front of her to the glowing TV screen. Lucas already vowed not to let her watch TV until she was at least two, and I feel a little guilty again seeing this as a reprieve. But then she gets tired and her head bobs down hard, making her cry. I pick her up and she immediately wants to nurse. I got dressed in a t-shirt this morning and feel the slightest bit of annoyance start to build when I pull my shirt up, unsnap the nursing bra, and hold her to me.
She’s only three weeks old. How the hell am I going to keep doing this for a year?