held little appeal, and that’s how she viewed the cautionary tale that was my childhood—as make-believe.
“Yes,” she decided, snuggling into my side. “You tell it better than Dad.”
Yes, well, her dad hadn’t lived it. There was something to be said for firsthand accounts.
“Once upon a time, in a trailer park outside Prattville, Alabama, there lived three magical children—”
“Triplets,” Ash corrected me in the superior tone only eight-year-olds can master. “They were triplets.”
“Once upon a time, in a trailer park outside Prattville, Alabama, lived the Theron triplets.” I narrowed my eyes at her, daring her to interrupt me again. “Their father was a fae prince, his beauty as sharp as a blade, and it cut all who looked upon him. Their mother was a daemon princess from a land far, far away whose power was as brutal as she was—”
“I get it.” She rolled the clover-green eyes she had inherited from her grandfather. “They were both model levels of hotness and belonged on magazine covers.” Ah, beauty. The curse of being fae. Or blessing. Perspective made all the difference. “You’re not even trying. Even Dad can do better than this.”
“Ouch.” I clutched at my chest. “Did anyone catch the license plate on the knife that stabbed me in the heart?”
Soft laughter intruded as the bedroom door opened to reveal a man whose presence never failed to cut me like the blade from the story.
“Give Auntie Elle a break,” Ben chastised his daughter. “She just got home from work, and she’s tired.”
“Sorry, Auntie.”
“Why don’t I finish here while you grab a shower?” The brotherly affection in his gaze curdled my stomach. “Dinner’s in the microwave when you’re ready.”
Grateful to escape the suddenly crowded room, I bolted before my niece mounted an argument.
Thanks to the split floor plan, I had to cross the entire house to reach my room. I had offered Ben the master suite when he and Ash moved in with me, for the times when my sister was home, but he chose to stay in the guestroom across from his daughter. Nights like these, I was grateful for the distance.
Halfway through the kitchen, a white doe crossed my path, and I yelped. “Butter biscuits.”
Eyes glinting with amusement, Tess flicked her ears forward to ask if I was okay.
“You scared ten years off my life.”
Three taps on the tile from her front hoof conveyed apology.
“Ben is picking up where I left off with story time,” I told her. “Hurry, and you’ll catch the end.”
Ears pivoting forward, she ambled toward the room I had just left and the family that would never be mine. I was a stand-in, and maybe if I kept reminding myself of that fact, it would sink in one day.
“Mommy,” Ash squealed behind me. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”
Quiet stretched for a long moment where I imagined Ben and Tess exchanging a wordless glance.
“Sure.” His false cheer made my back teeth ache. “I’ll make her a pallet on the floor.”
Nine years since he locked eyes with his forever. Five years since the curse took her away from him. Three years since I opened my home to what remained of my family.
You would think, after all that time, it would hurt less. But every day he and I shared a home, a life. Every day, we went through the motions. Every day, it sliced a little bit deeper, until the blade scraped bone with each new cut.
After reaching my sanctuary, I shut the door then leaned against it, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. Memories still painted the backs of my eyelids, but they faded to blessed darkness when I squinted hard enough.
Moist cold brushed the back of my hand, and I glanced down to find a snow-white buck with almost luminescent fur nosing me. His blue-gray eyes saw too much. There was nothing animal in them, only a fathomless sadness that radiated through our sibling bond.
“It’s been five years and two weeks. Ash was three when she lost her mom.” I picked a spiny bur from his ear. “Do you think she remembers Tess? Or does she think all little girls have a doe for a mother?”
Ben homeschooled her. That was his full-time job. That way, she never had to learn she was different, that her life was anything but ordinary, that her family was other than normal. Plus, it made it easier if we had to run, and in the end, we always fled.
Will stared at me through liquid eyes, but they held no