Page 88 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“It wasn't a decision exactly. More like...discovering gravity exists. It simply is.” My free hand drifts to my stomach. “This baby just...is.”

“What happens now?” she asks after the silence stretches between us.

“I don't know.” I shrug one shoulder. “Find work. Find an apartment. Figure out motherhood.”

“You're not alone in this. Your father and I?—”

“I know.” I squeeze her hand. “And I'm grateful. But I need to sort this out myself.”

She studies me, then nods. “While figuring things out, would helping at the library interest you? Mrs. Grayson needs someone for the children's reading hour.”

“Reading to kids?”

“You loved it as a child. You'd line up your stuffed animals and read for hours.” She smiles at the memory. “It's just a few hours weekly, not too demanding in your condition.”

My instinct is refusal. I didn't return to be absorbed back into small-town life. But perhaps that's exactly what I need.

“I'll do it,” I say, surprising us both.

“Really?” Mom looks pleased but wary, as if expecting me to retract the offer.

“Really. It sounds...nice.”

Maybe growing up isn't about rejecting your past but rediscovering value in what you've outgrown.

The next morning, I wake unusually early. My nausea has granted a temporary reprieve, leaving actual hunger in its place. I shower, dress, and head to the library before doubt can interfere.

Oakwood Public Library is a squat brick building with enormous windows and a children's section decorated with faded animal murals.

“Emily Baker, is that you?” Mrs. Grayson emerges from behind the desk.

“Hello, Mrs. Grayson.” A genuine smile forms despite my nervousness. “Mom mentioned you needed help with reading hour?”

“Oh, bless you!” She clasps my hands in hers. “Our last volunteer moved to Florida, and these old knees protest sitting on the floor with little ones these days.”

She leads me toward the children's section, chattering about the summer reading program.

“Reading hour starts at ten,” Mrs. Grayson explains, revealing a cart of picture books. “We usually host about a dozen children, mostly preschoolers. You'll select three or four stories. I like having a theme.”

“What's today's theme?”

“Animals,” she says with a warm smile. “I thought we'd start with something fun.”

Animals. They follow me everywhere, crap.

But if there's one lesson I learned from all this chaos, life rarely follows plans. Sometimes, the things we never knew we wanted become exactly what we need.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Logan

The clinic feels wrong without her.

I glare at the reception desk where Ms. Winters sits, typing away like a robot. Everything about her screams efficiency. She always wears a too-perfect ironed blouse and has her hair pulled back so tight, it looks painful. But the worst part is how she answers calls like she's reading from a script. She's a better receptionist than Emily ever was.

And I fucking hate her for it.

“Dr. Price?” Her voice cuts through my thoughts. “Your ten o'clock is here.”