Chapter 125

Emily

The day has passed me by an agonizingly, slow pace. Nothing that I can do can ease the boredom that settles into my body and mind, forcing me to pick up random errands around the house. I have done everything from cleaning Logan and I's bedroom, cleaning the kitchen, re-organizing the bathroom, and I even cleaned up all of the extra rooms in his house.

There is one room, though, that I have never been in. Inside sits boxes from my mother's house’s fire. I knew that they were in there, but I kept my distance, not wanting to open up any old wounds that still feel fresh whenever I think about them.

Logan put the boxes inside of there because he knew that I would never go in. I know that he meant well, but simply staring at the door makes me want to cry because I know what is sitting behind the door. I slowly inch towards the door and open it up, poking my head inside to stare at the cardboard boxes that the fire department gifted back to us.

I settle myself in the middle of the room, surrounding myself with the boxes. I did not know where to start, so I just picked a random one, grabbing it and pulling it to my body. The boxes smells like ashes and smoke, the lingering fragrance of my father and stepmother’s poor attempt at erasing what is left of my mother.

It is painful to look at the memories inside these boxes. One by one, I pull out new items that I haven't seen in years. Memories that I had once thought to be asleep inside of my mind, forced away so that I do not find myself reliving the past over and over again, resurface all at once, overwhelming my mind with just how much grief I still hold inside of my body.

I grab a scrapbook, bringing the heavy belonging into my lap. I open it up and am faced with photos of my mother, and I from when I was a child. Tears immediately form inside of my eyes, an overwhelming sense of sadness and depression, taking over my body.

They are countless photos of my mother and I around the city. We stand in the middle of the park, arms wrapped around each other with bright smiles on our faces. Another one is of us at my favorite café, a big glass of hot chocolate sitting in front of me while she happily drinks her cup of tea. There is another photo where we are standing at the beach, our feet in the ocean while we hold hands.

I wish I could go back. I wish I could go back in time and see my mother again, to tell her how much I love and miss her. To tell her that I am okay and that her little girl is now married with her own child on the way, to make her own memories with her baby.

I suck in a breath, trying to steady myself. I set the scrapbook down, but pluck the photo of my mother and I at the beach. I bring it close to my face, my eyes focused on our connected hands.

There is a tingling sensation in the back of my mind. A sense of familiarity that warms my body despite the cold rushing feeling of grief and misery. It forms in the back of my mind, but slowly overtakes the rest of my body, slowly igniting my nerves.

I touched the photo, feeling a connection to it. A connection that is along the lines of the mystical arts, not of a distant memory that I want held. A memory that I have pushed away to keep my grief subsided and calm.

It is like I can hear my mother and I’s laughter. I can feel the warmth of the blazing sun on my skin, the faint smell of the salty sea breeze, tingling my nose. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing myself to submerge into the memory that is printed in the photo before me.

If I can just bring myself to focus…maybe I can relive the memory one last time in my mind before fully shutting that part of my life out. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks. I miss my mother so much, I miss her every single fucking day.

The tingling sensation grows into a frenzy. Slowly consuming my mind with its obsession. I am about to give in when the door to the office opens., Snapping me out of mine daze.

Logan enters through the door. He has loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. He looks tired, miserable. I wipe my tears away and slowly bring myself to my feet, holding my baby belly instinctively to try and protect it in case I were to fall.

I quickly approach him, opening my arms and immediately bringing him into a hug. He places his face into the crook of my neck, deeply, inhaling, impressing, sweet and gentle kisses to my skin. I reach around and flatten out the frizziness of his hair, trying to comfort him as much as I can, even though I know nothing.

Without a word, Logan picks me up and carries me back to our bedroom, placing me down onto the bed. He signals for me to stay before turning into the closet, shedding himself of his work clothes and slipping into comfortable pajamas. Before I know it, he is already back in bed at my side, bringing me into his arms as he places a warm and gentle hand onto my stomach. I placed my hand on top of his and tilt my head to the side.

“Is everything okay?” I ask in a quiet tone, unsure if it is anything related to work or if his father has been pestering him about the Alpha King campaign again.

“Everything is fine,” Logan’s voice is tired and very quiet. I gently run my fingers through his hair, a quiet ground of appreciation, vibrating in the back of his throat. Our eyes meet, and he relaxes into the bed, letting out a quiet sigh. “I just missed you today, that's all.”

“I missed you too,” I respond. I glance down at my baby belly before looking back at him, a small smile forming across my face. “They missed you too.”

Logan's face instantly brightens. He releases his hold on me and shimmies down the bed, placing kisses along my body before he settles next to my baby bump. He places his ear to my stomach and slowly exhales, my fingers running through his hair at a slow and easy pace.

“I missed them too,” logan sighs, closing his eyes.

I stare at the back of his head, happy to know that he is home and safe. It does not bother me that he is keeping quiet about what happened in his day. Other times, I would have pestered him and bothered him for the truth, but I know now not to bother him with such small things.

All that matters is that Logan is home in a place where he belongs, away from the eyes and expectations that the world forces onto his shoulders. Here, he can just be himself with no expectation, and it brings me so much joy that I am that safe space for him.

I want to open up about the photograph, though. I do know that it is not the right time to bring it up, not wanting to add to any more stress that he may be feeling in this moment. Perhaps some things were meant to be quiet about.