Forgetting You - L.A. Casey Page 0,117

jacket and hung it up on its peg. “Huh. I was sure I heard something, I must’ve imagined it.”

I turned, set my bag down on the floor, then tossed my keys on to the side table just as shouts sounded from behind me. I was expecting to be surprised, but the volume of the shouts frightened me out of my skin. I didn’t have to fake it when I screamed, I bloody well near shit myself. I spun around with my hand on my chest and found the culprits. Both of them were on the floor and laughing so hard they couldn’t speak.

“That wasn’t funny!” I admonished. “If I have grey hairs, it’s because of you two!”

“Aw, Mummy,” my almost-four-year-old son said as he got to his feet. “You should have seen your face! It was like this.”

He pulled a very unattractive, almost-constipated-looking face that had me placing my hands on my hips as I stared down at him. My son, my beautiful Baylor, soon stopped laughing and swallowed when he took in my stance and expression. I think two seconds passed by before he pointed to his left and said, “He made me do it, he planned the whole thing. I’m only a baby!”

He was only a baby when he was in trouble – every other time he was a “big boy” and most definitely not a baby.

“Traitor,” Elliot grumbled as he got to his feet. He was trying his hardest to keep from smiling. “How was work, Mummy? How ’bout Daddy gives ye a good ol’ foot rub?”

I made a mental note to scold them both later, but the foot rub could come first. I kissed my son on the head and told him to go and watch some television.

“I’ll allow it,” I mused to Elliot as I removed my platform heels, vowing never to wear anything other than flat, comfy shoes to work for the rest of my life. “I could actually really use a good rub-down.”

I grinned as I passed by my husband, who made a noise deep in his throat that told me my feet weren’t the only place on my body that he’d like to rub down. I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. I grabbed some wet wipes, sat on a chair and cleaned off any dirt, sweat and stink left behind on my feet from my workday. I sighed as I got up and binned them, before resting my hands on the counter and closing my eyes.

“Headache?” Elliot murmured, and his arms encircled my waist.

“No,” I said, leaning back against him. “It was just a long day. Mum had been taking orders for the past two days for a funeral, and I didn’t realise how many we had to fulfil until I opened the shop this morning. It was non-stop all day, but it’s not the work that has me feeling . . . upset. I couldn’t stop thinking about our Bailey, and how there was a shop catering orders like today’s for her funeral. It’s just . . . it just reminded me that I wasn’t there to say goodbye to her.”

Elliot turned me in his arms and frowned when tears splashed on to my cheeks.

“Green eyes,” he said softly as he thumbed them away. “Ye were with her when she passed away; she wasn’t alone in her final moments because she had you right next to her. Your goodbye to her was that night.”

My lower lip wobbled as I burst into sobs. “I miss her so much.”

Elliot enveloped me in a warm, tight embrace, and I wrapped my arms around him as I cried. Life without Bailey was hard, but it was getting somewhat easier in the sense that I didn’t always cry when I missed her. But today was one of those days where my grief struck me hard, and broke me down into tears.

“Mummy?” a small voice called. “Don’t cry, we didn’t mean to scare you. Did we, Daddy?”

I pulled back and smiled down at my son, and when I bent to lift him up, Elliot stopped me and picked Baylor up instead. Baylor reached down and rubbed my swollen stomach, which brought on a fresh wave of tears that had my son near tears himself.

“Mummy’s okay, Bay,” Elliot assured him with a cuddle. “She just misses Auntie Bailey.”

“I miss her too, Mummy. It’s okay.”

He only knew of Bailey through pictures, videos and stories we told him of her, but that was enough for him to

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