8. Gray #3
I push to my feet and make my way toward the door, then turn back. “Remember... Uncle. Favorite.”
Maddie exhales dramatically but gets up, dragging her feet as she follows me out.
I lead her down the hall toward my study, my mind racing. How the hell do I say this? Just come out with it? Ease her into it? There’s no right way, no handbook, and for the first time in my life, I’m completely out of my depth.
I open the door and let her in first. She wanders in, her small hands trailing over the back of a chair before drifting toward my desk.
I step inside and half-sit on the edge, watching as she idly picks up one thing after another—ornaments, staplers, whatever catches her eye.
Then she grabs a pen. Before she can scribble on the polished wood, I slip a notepad under her hand. Normally, I’d tell her to stop it. Now is definitely not the time for that.
“Maddie, come on, kiddo, sit down.” My voice is hoarse. “I need to tell you something.”
She huffs but plops herself into the chair opposite me, swinging her legs. “Is it like a secret?”
I try to smile at her despite the complete chaos in my head. “You know how caterpillars turn into chrysalises?”
She squints at me, confused. “Yeah... We learned about that at school. Then they go hard and turn into butterflies and fly away?”
Something twists in my stomach. Bad analogy. Really bad. But I’m already in it now.
“Yeah, that’s right. Well, your mom is like a caterpillar, and she… she’s…”
Maddie, still looking confused, reaches across my desk and picks up a small paperweight, turning it over in her hands. “What, she turned into a butterfly and flew away?”
I close my eyes for half a second. Idiot. What the hell am I doing? I gently take the paperweight from her hands and place it back down.
“Maddie, look,” my voice is lower now. “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this, but Nicole—your mom, my sister—was on a boat a few days ago, and… and…”
Before I can finish, she giggles. Actually giggles.
“And she turned into a butterfly and flew away?” She grins. “Yeah, sure! You’re funny.”
My throat tightens.
“Maddie, no.” The words come blurting out before I can stop them. “She… she had a bad, bad accident and unfortunately, she… she died. Maddie, I’m so sorry.”
I lean forward to hug her, but she jerks away, her small body going rigid. The color drains from her face. Her bottom lip quivers, and then—
“NO!” she screams, her voice piercing. “You’re a liar! She hasn’t died! I hate you! I hate you!”
Before I can react, she’s out of the chair, running. She yanks open the door and bolts out of the study, her voice echoing through the hallway.
“I HATE YOU!”
“Maddie!” I push off the desk and chase after her.
I barely make it into the hall before I see her flying up the stairs. Avery appears in the living room doorway, her face alarmed.
“What happened?” she asks, but I don’t have time to answer.
I take the stairs two at a time, following Maddie as she sprints to her bedroom. She throws open the door, rushes inside, and slams it shut so hard the walls seem to shake.
I stop outside, my breath tight in my chest. From the other side of the door, muffled sobs seep through. I reach for the handle and slowly turn it.
The room is dark except for the soft silver glow of the moon streaming through the window, stretching silhouettes across the floor.
Maddie is curled on her bed, her tiny body trembling as she buries her face into her pillow. Her sobs are raw and broken, shaking the bed frame.
I take a slow step inside and close the door behind me.
She doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t look up. She just keeps crying, her little fists slamming against the pillow in desperate, helpless anger. Each hit is weak and exhausted. I’ve never felt so goddamn useless in my entire life.
I move toward the bed, lowering myself onto the edge beside her. I don’t say anything at first. There’s nothing I can say that’ll fix this. Nothing that’ll make it better. So, I just sit. Close enough so she knows I’m here, far enough so she doesn’t feel trapped.
Her cries start to quiet, though her body still shakes. I watch her tiny fingers clutch at the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her from shattering completely.
My throat tightens, and my eyes sting. Jesus.
I rub them, inhaling sharply. “I’m sorry, kiddo,” my voice a murmur barely above a whisper. “I’m so damn sorry.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.
I swallow hard, staring at her small frame curled up against the world.
“I give you my word,” but my voice cracks as I fight against the emotion clawing up my throat. “No matter what happens, no matter what, I’ll always take care of you.”
She doesn’t answer.
She just clutches the pillow tighter, her breaths uneven, hitching between silent sobs.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Eventually, her shaking slows, her breathing becomes deeper and steadier, and she’s cried herself to sleep. I exhale, staring at the ceiling, willing away the burning behind my eyes. Then I lean down, brushing a few damp strands of hair from her face.
And for the first time in a long, long time, I let my own tears fall.