Chapter 7 Annabelle
M orning light filters through the clinic’s mint-green walls, bathing the faded wildflower prints in a gentle glow. The waiting-room floor creaks under my weight, and even the old coffee maker in the corner sputters its familiar greeting as it brews.
“Doctor Marvey,” I say, stepping forward. “Good to see you.”
He rises and crosses the desk in two strides, pulling me into a brisk hug. His scent of linen and antiseptic feels like home.
“Heard you’re back,” he murmurs. “How are you settling in? Your mom hasn’t stopped singing your praises as a nurse.”
I swallow, reminding myself that I’m no longer Annabelle Fields, RN. “I’m… Finding my footing. Baking for May Day helps.”
Great. Another person I’m lying to.
“So, are you going to apply?”
I give him the most genuine smile I can muster. “Thank you so much for the offer. I’ll think about it.”
His brow furrows with something unspoken, but the chime of the front-door bell frees me.
“Annabelle!” Emma’s voice cracks through the quiet. She wobbles in, all baby belly and warmth—like the glowing fertility goddess she is.
Guilt tugs at my heart. I missed her wedding, her baby shower, and most of her life in Lords Valley.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t home yesterday.” She wraps me in the most heartfelt hug I’ve had in months, her warmth and kindness radiating through every inch of her very pregnant body.
She adjusts her weight, elbows tucked to cradle her bump. “What brings you to the clinic? You sick? Is Derek all right?”
I force a laugh. “We’re fine. Eric told me you have an appointment today, so I thought I’d drop by. And I brought something.”
“Ahh! The famous fritters.” She eyes the box. “They vanished yesterday. They were delicious.”
I lift the lid, revealing the golden rounds. “People do have appetites.”
“Especially for your pies. You should open a bakery.”
I tilt my hip and offer her the box. “We’ve got Valley’s Delights.”
She picks out a glazed fritter and takes a healthy bite. “They don’t have your pies or fritters. I guess being a nurse means the bakery’s off the table.”
“Who knows? Maybe one day,” I say, half-jokingly.
She bites into the dough again and smiles around a mouthful. “There’s something about your pastries.”
Her words water a seed, even as I push it aside. One step at a time. May Day first—then maybe, a new chapter.
Emma freezes, fritter halfway to her mouth, and winces. I gently place a hand on her belly.
“Braxton Hicks.” She waves it off and grabs another fritter. “This one prefers pickles to sweets. The joys of pregnancy.”
I nod and remove my hand. “Eric told me you bought the old Miller place for my parents.”
Her eyes light up.
“Right across from us. You should see the renovations. We replanted your mom’s roses in the new garden. And the porch swing…” She rests a hand on her bump. “Eric and Derek rebuilt it. It’s perfect for watching the sunset over the pond.”
She smiles. “Give it another month, and your parents will have a home again.”
Relief and guilt knot in my chest. “Thank you for doing this.”
“We’re family,” she says simply.
Her words crack the dam. I swallow hard.
“Emma, I’m sorry I missed your wedding. And the baby shower. And Albert’s birth.”
Outside the clinic, the apple tree sways, blossoms catching the breeze. Once, that scent meant safety. Now, it tastes like what I’ll lose if I can’t outrun Mike.
Emma’s gaze softens. “Eric said things got complicated in San Francisco.”
They’re still complicated, because I didn’t tell my brother everything.
I lay my hand over hers. “True. But I should have been here.”
How can I explain I was paralyzed by fear? That every plan to come home collapsed under the weight of panic? That running meant prison, and staying meant surrender?
I still could end up behind bars.
“Don’t you miss the city?” I ask, though I already know her answer.
She shakes her head, laughter bright in her eyes.
“The noise, the crowds, strangers brushing past like you don’t exist. What’s to miss?”
She smiles.
“Here, people know your name. They bring pie when you’re under the weather. Fix your fence without being asked.”
She watches me with patience that asks nothing but sees everything.
“You feel it, don’t you? Why Lords Valley keeps pulling you back.”
I nod, throat tight. Because she’s right. Every sunrise mist. Every whiff of cinnamon from the bakery. Every wrench-clink in Derek’s shop.
It’s all stitched into my blood.
“I met my nephew yesterday,” I say.
Emma beams. “He’s something else, isn’t he? But this one’s going to be a handful too.” She pats her belly. “Less than a year apart. Can you believe it?”
“They’ll grow up together,” I say.
She smiles. “That’s the hope.”
I want that for them—and for me.
I didn’t know I still wanted it. Not really.
But the uninvited thought blooms, and a quiet vision slips in, soft and golden, catching me off guard.
A little girl with Derek’s eyes and my wild hair runs barefoot through the orchard, cheeks pink from the breeze. Laughter trails behind her like falling leaves as our daughter barrels toward her father.
He lifts her into the air like she’s weightless, spinning her once before settling her on his shoulders. She squeals and points to a ripe apple dangling from a high branch, and he plucks it with one hand, handing it to her with a smile only she gets to see.
The sun is bright. The sky a wash of endless blue. The trees that line the river are beginning to turn, flames of gold and red dancing in the breeze.
And for one fragile breath, I believe in that future.
But hope is a dangerous thing. So I tuck the dream away—where it’s warm, and safe, and mine.
Emma leans forward. “You know, when I first arrived here, you showed me the hidden swimming hole, the secret blackberry thickets… You made me feel at home. Now it’s my turn to guide you back.”
My vision wobbles. I blink hard, chasing away tears.
“I’ll remember that,” I whisper.
She pulls me into a hug, her belly pressing between us, steady as a heartbeat, anchoring me in a way nothing else can.
For the first time since I returned, something in my chest unclenches.
“Well, you’re here now,” Emma says, her smile a warm sunrise. “And just in time. This little one needs her aunt around. And so does Albert. Hey—maybe you can help deliver her?”
Deliver a baby? I haven’t done that since school. Still, my heart swells.
“Her?” I murmur, lips curving. “You found out?”
She nods, rubbing her belly. “A few weeks ago. Eric’s already planning riding lessons.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a glow there that makes my chest ache.
A contraction ripples across her face, and she winces.
“Breathe through it,” I say without thinking, slipping into nurse mode—voice low, hands gentle. “Slow and steady.”
Before she can respond, the hallway door creaks. Dr. Marvey peeks in. “Come on in, Mrs. Waters.”
We both look up—Emma expectant, me confused—until I remember. She took on my brother’s last name.
Emma groans and laughs. “That’s our cue, Annabelle.”
She turns to me, eyes shining with mischief. “Come see this.”
“Me?”
“You’re family.” She takes my hand into hers. “And you brought fritters. Besides, I might need backup.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Lead the way.”
Dr. Marvey guides us to the exam room. The light inside is soft, quiet. Moments later, the baby’s heartbeat echoes through the speaker—a steady drum in the hush.
The monitor flickers to life.
A tiny form appears, curled in shadow, limbs flexing in the blur of ultrasound.
“She’s perfect,” I breathe.
Emma’s eyes glisten. “Thank you for being here.”
“Always.”
We linger a moment longer, watching the flickering screen like it holds more than just a heartbeat—like it holds the future.
Then Emma pulls her shirt down, and I help her sit up. The spell breaks gently.
Back at the front desk, Emma leans close. “Tea after this. No excuses.”
I grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Then I glance at Dr. Marvey. “If Derek stops by, please tell him I went to Emma’s, then home.”
He nods and disappears.
The receptionist is buried in charts.
Now or never.
I draw the manila envelope from my bag. It feels like a brick in my palm—lead and truth—as I offer it to Emma with trembling fingers.
“Emma… I need a favor. A huge one.”
Her brow furrows as she lifts the envelope. “What is this?”
“Just some documents,” I say, my voice catching.
“Please, don’t ask too many questions. Can your brothers process these right away? They still have contacts in San Francisco, don’t they? And please, no one else can know.”
Emma’s fingers tighten around the edges, paper crinkling under her grip.
“Are you in trouble?”
I force a weak smile. “Define trouble.”
She doesn’t laugh—just levels me with a probing look that slices straight through the deflection.
“Maybe a little,” I admit, lowering my voice. “But this will help fix some of it.”
Emma studies me the way only a sister-in-law and lifelong friend can—someone who’s seen every version of you and still shows up with pie.
Without another word, she tucks the envelope into her tote.
“I’ve got you,” she says simply.
Her promise hits me like warm sunlight after a storm.
I fling my arms around her.
She holds me tight. Solid. Maternal.
Her belly presses into mine like a second heartbeat of reassurance.
“I mean it,” she murmurs. “If you need anything else, just say the word. I may feel like a beached whale, but I’m still a licensed investigator in three states… and I know where all the legal bodies are buried.”
I laugh, the sound catching in my throat, thick with emotion. “That is…incredibly comforting.”
“I’m also not above jabbing someone with a breast pump,” she adds, grin broadening.
I swallow hard. Humor doesn’t quite reach my eyes, but I manage, “Thank you. I’ll let you know. I promise.”
She pulls back, the warmth in her gaze turning to concern, as if she’s about to unpack every worry etched into my face.
Before she can, the door swings open and Caroline and Misty slip inside.