Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry.”
I grabbed her hand again and shifted closer so our knees were touching. Somehow, I felt better when we were touching. We were still alone in this part of the airport, our own quiet little corner in the vastness of the building. “What about you, Maggie? Where’s your home? Is that where you’re headed?”
There was a long pause before she spoke.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I hope so.”
CHAPTER THREE
SEBASTIAN
I furrowed my brow at her words. They were filled with so much sadness, I could feel it. “Can you tell me?” I asked quietly.
Our gazes locked and held. Sitting this close, I could see the sorrow in her eyes, and I squeezed her hand, wanting to offer her the same comfort she had given me.
“My parents divorced when I was young.”
I nodded for her to continue.
“I lived with my mom until I was a teenager. She got remarried—again—and I was tired of moving around and being in the way. So, when my dad offered to let me come live with him, I said yes. He lived in a small town outside of Calgary. It’s very pretty there—lots of mountains.”
“How did that work?”
She gave me a sad smile. “Dad was great. Quiet, but a good parent. He worked a lot—he was the principal of the local school and a volunteer firefighter, plus he was on the city council. I went to school and worked part time. We got along well, and I was very happy. My mom got divorced a couple years later, got married again, and then divorced—again.” She shrugged self-consciously. “She was never one to stay put very long.”
“A free spirit?”
“That’s being kind, I think.”
“Oh?”
“I was grateful to go live with my dad. My mom was always dragging me all over. She’d hear of some great area to live, with lots of opportunities for her, and we’d go. I lost count of how many schools I went to, how many places we lived. I can’t remember most of the names of my mom’s boyfriends or husbands who came and went. I never stayed anywhere long enough for me to get close to anyone, so I didn’t have many friends growing up. I was too busy making sure the bills were being paid and there were groceries in the house. I learned early on if I didn’t want to be hungry, I needed to fend for myself.”
I frowned at her description. “That sounds rough, Maggie. Lonely.”
She nodded. “It was. But with Dad, I found some stability. I made a couple of friends—one, in particular. I did well at school, and I liked looking after him.” She sighed wistfully. “Maybe because he looked after me in return. I finally felt as if I had a home, you know? A place I belonged.”
“What happened?”
“My mom continued to move to different places—I only saw her a few times. I started to go to university, and she called one day, out of the blue. She was…sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, her eyes looking everywhere but at me as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I gave up school and went to look after her. That was a year ago—she died two weeks ago today.”
I clasped her hands tighter. “Angel…I’m so sorry.”
She nodded as more tears coursed down her face.
“So, you’re heading back to your dad now? Back home?”
She choked out a “sort of” and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Sort of?”
“Dad died a month ago,” she whispered. “He had a massive heart attack and never woke up.”
“Oh God…Maggie.”
Without another thought, I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. Sobs racked her body, with hardly a sound coming from her. Only the softest little cries in relation to how hard she was shaking in my arms. I cursed myself—here I was complaining about my father who was removed but at least still here, and she had suffered the loss of both her parents within a few weeks.
“I couldn’t leave Mom to go to Dad’s funeral,” she sobbed out. “She was so ill at that point, and there was no one else who could stay with her. I couldn’t even tell her—she never knew. They held a memorial for my dad without me there.”
I held her closer. She’d been suffering this all alone. Watching her mother die, knowing her father was already gone. I marveled at her strength. She had somehow made it through all that pain.
I let her cry. I didn’t try to hush her or tell her placating words of how things would get better. I simply held her until she wasn’t sobbing anymore. I had the feeling she’d been holding everything in so long, she needed to get it out.
Eventually, she pulled back, rubbing her face with her sleeve. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You didn’t need to see that.”
Slipping my fingers under her chin, I lifted her face up, forcing her to meet my eyes. Her gaze was sad and weary, and she looked almost lost.