Page 10 of Make You Mine

Amerie

Willow is gone.

The words split my world in two—before and after I heard them. I rush toward Chelsea, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “She was just at the bouncy castle. Where did she go?”

“I’m not sure. I asked the other kids, and they said she popped over to the water fountain. But she’s not there, Amerie. I’ve looked everywhere. No one’s seen her.”

“Oh my god. Willow! WILLOW!”

I spin on my heel, screaming in every direction. Declan’s rushed over too, an equally frantic expression on his face.

“What the hell’s going on? Where is she? Amerie, where’s Willow?”

“Chelsea says she wasn’t at the bouncy castle! She can’t find her anywhere.”

“You said you were keeping an eye on her! How long’s she been gone?” he asks in a growl.

Chelsea lifts her hands helplessly, eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know. Five minutes? She was with the others one second and then… she headed toward the drinking fountain, but then she wasn’t there. I’ve looked everywhere, I swear.”

“Alright, keep your wits about you. We need to check the loos, the trees, behind the tents. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

By now, some of the other parents and teachers have approached, volunteering to help in the search. All children have been recalled from the various play stations and gathered at the picnic tables, their little faces worried and curious.

But I hardly notice. I’m so deep in panic that the only thing on my mind is finding Willow. I push Emmett in the stroller and wander the park grounds, calling her name.

“Willow!” I scream, throat aching and voice hoarse.

My heart pounds so violently that it echoes in my ears, drowning out the chatter of worried parents and the occasional burst of a whistle from one of the teachers trying to keep order.

I wheel Emmett’s stroller past the row of picnic tables, veering toward the open lawn dotted with benches and shaded by low-hanging sycamore trees.

The party’s atmosphere has done a 180; what had been light and fun just minutes ago now feels grim and heavy. Parents fan out across the grass and dirt pathways, their eyes scanning beneath slides and roundabouts, while a few have started calling Willow’s name too.

Off in the distance, I spot Declan scouring the car park, one arm raised as if shielding his eyes from the sun. He’s checking between cars, ducking to peer under each one. Even from this far, I can tell he’s swearing under his breath. His jaw’s set tight. He’s panicked. He’s as desperate as I am.

“Willow!” I shout again. “WILLOW, WHERE ARE YOU?”

I pivot down a gravel path lined by shrubs, pushing Emmett’s stroller harder than I should be. The wheels bump and rattle over uneven patches. My temples begin to throb, the pain dull at first, then sharpening with every step. A hot pressure builds behind my eyes like something about to burst.

I pick up the pace, speed-walking.

The park’s terrain seems endless, too open and too crowded all at once—trees, strollers, stranger’s faces I don’t recognize.

I try to stay focused. But my mouth feels bone-dry, like I’ve swallowed cotton.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and every breath tastes metallic.

I swallow, and it doesn’t help. The inside of my head pulses like it’s being squeezed from all sides.

My limbs grow sluggish, like I’m wading through mud. My feet drag with every step as the stroller handle slips in my damp grip.

Something’s wrong.

I glance down just in time to see the edge of my vision blur. It’s like the air’s gone soft around me, melting at the corners.

Beep-beep-beep!

My glucose monitor makes me jump, demanding my attention.

“Shit,” I gasp. I stagger to a stop at a wooden bench, clutching the stroller’s handle to steady myself.

I’ve pushed too far.

Fumbling with one hand, I dig through my tote bag for my insulin pen, my fingers clumsy and shaking. The bag tips sideways, spilling its contents onto the damp grass—my wallet, Emmett’s pacifier, a mushed banana, my phone.

“Damn it…” I mutter, dropping to my knees.

My vision warps again as I try to steady the pen in my hand.

I brace my palm on the bench beside me and take a few shallow breaths.

Emmett kicks lightly in the stroller, making a soft cooing noise that only fuels my panic.

I can’t fall apart when it’s just the two of us and no one else is around.

When Willow’s missing. She needs me?—

“I’VE FOUND HER!”

Chelsea’s voice booms across the park grounds like a siren. Heads snap in her direction as she runs toward the center of the park, waving an arm in the air.

“I’ve got her! She’s here!”

For a moment, everything slows down—the chaos, the pounding in my head, the sense of panic that had exploded inside me. It gradually sinks in that she’s been found safe and unharmed.

Overwhelming relief crashes over me, so swift and sharp it leaves me lightheaded. The insulin pen slips from my hand into the grass as I slump back against the bench. My legs won’t hold me. Every muscle shudders. Not just from the blood sugar spike, but from the panic leaving my body all at once…

“Do you have any idea how close I was to losing it? I’m not even angry, I’m—no, scratch that.

I am angry,” Declan says hours later. We’re finally home, locked away in our bedroom.

“You should’ve said something the second your head started pounding.

Three-oh-four? Bloody brilliant, Amerie. Really top marks.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to announce it, Declan. My daughter was missing and my blood sugar wasn’t at the top of my damn list.”

“I told you that cupcake looked too good to be sugar-free. I should’ve trusted my gut and binned it the second I saw it in your hand.”

“They were sugar-free. The other diabetics ate theirs without any issues. It just turns out…” I sigh, giving a shrug. “A regular one slipped into the sugar-free batch. It happened to be mine. It was a mistake. Accidents happen.”

He scoffs, pacing the foot of our bed. “Some ruddy accident.”

“Can we not argue about this too?” I ask. “I think we’ve bitten each other’s heads off enough for one day. We already blamed each other enough about Willow missing.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, his jaw clenched.

It might seem like he’s furious with me, but I know better than to believe he is. Declan is naturally protective of those he cares about, so when Willow goes missing and I have a blood sugar scare, it feels like a failure on his part.

He’s angry with himself, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to stop either from happening.

Earlier I overheard him on the phone with the café; he was chewing them out for making such a mistake with the cupcakes.

They swore up and down they don’t know how a regular cupcake got mixed in with a batch of sugar-free ones, but he threatened to crush their business should it ever happen again.

He’d been just as worked up about Willow wandering off.

Chelsea says she found her on the far side of the park, where there’s a garden and pond to feed the ducks. Willow claims a man dressed as a clown had been offering ice cream.

No such clown had been hired by Arlo’s mother for the birthday party or anyone else at the park. No vendors were approved at all to be selling food or any kind of sweets on the grounds.

Declan spent almost two hours searching the area with police for the man. He never said it aloud, but a part of him hoped he got to the man before the authorities did.

We’ve badgered Willow over what happened during the ten minutes she was missing. She’s given the same answer each and every time.

“Nothing, Mommy,” she squeaks. “The clown said he had ice cream. But then he walked away. So I went to look… and there were flowers! So many pretty ones, just like ours! But even more!”

We’ve given her the stranger danger talk several more times, hammering home how she’s not supposed to talk to strangers, let alone go wandering off. She teared up and apologized, insisting she had only gone to the park gardens, because she wasn’t sure how to get back to the other side.

The entire situation… feels like a mess.

I sigh and get up from my side of the bed. “I’m going to go check on the kids.”

Declan catches my arm on my way out, holding me back. A flicker of guilt passes over his face. “You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that again, Amerie. I love you.”

I mouth it back to him and then leave the room.

It’s dimmer out in the hall, the soft light from our bedroom spilling across the floor. I make my way down the corridor and peek into the nursery. Emmett’s still fast asleep, knocked out from all the excitement of the day.

Willow’s room is next.

Chelsea appears before I can reach the door, offering a small, tentative smile.

“She’s alright,” she says. “Still a bit shaken, but mostly just feeling guilty for wandering off. I gave her an extra cookie to cheer her up. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. We tried explaining it wasn’t her fault.”

“Little ones always take things to heart. Especially when they hear Mum and Dad having a go at each other.”

A pang of guilt hits me as it occurs to me she probably heard us. I heave a sigh and tell Chelsea I’ll meet her downstairs. First I have to check on Willow myself.

I can tell from the first moment I enter my little girl is still guilt ridden. She’s curled up in her bed and as her big, brown eyes meet mine, she can’t even bring herself to smile like she normally would.

“Hey, Mommy,” she mumbles.

“Hey, Lo. How are you feeling?”

“Not so good…”

I reach out and smooth her braided hair. “Listen, baby… you know Daddy and me… we’re not mad at you, right? We don’t like it when you wander off. Please don’t do it again, okay?”

She nods, eyes downcast. “I know.”

“We love you so much, Lo. More than anything. And we just want you safe.”

She sniffles. “Okay. But, Mommy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fight with Daddy anymore.”

My breath catches. “We weren’t trying to fight. We were just really worried.”

“Chels said that.” She looks up at me, blinking wide, innocent eyes. “She said you didn’t mean it.”

“Is that what she told you?”

Willow nods. “She said it’s not my fault. That sometimes grown-ups get scared and say stuff they don’t mean.”

I press a kiss to her forehead, fingers still stroking her hair. “She’s right about that part. It’s not your fault, baby. Not one bit.”

When I come downstairs, Chelsea’s curled up on the sofa, scrolling through her phone with her coat folded neatly across her lap. She looks up and sets her phone aside the moment she sees me.

“How’s she doing?” she asks in a gentle tone.

I sigh and lower myself onto the loveseat across from her, the dense cushions almost swallowing me up.

“Better. Just tired. Honestly, I think we all are. It’s been a day.”

“You, especially,” she says, tipping her head. “You gave us all a proper scare. Did Frans ever say what happened with the cupcake?”

“They said it must’ve been a mix-up.”

She tuts under her breath, shaking her head. “Some mix-up. You could’ve landed in A&E.”

“I know.” I rub a hand over my face, the headache from earlier pulsing behind my eyes. “I just… I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s been one thing after another lately.”

Chelsea’s expression softens. “Why don’t I put the kettle on and make you some tea?”

“You really don’t have to do that. You weren’t even supposed to be working today.”

She waves me off. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’d only be home on my own. If I wasn’t here, I’d be curled up with a microwave meal watching some rubbish reality show like Love Island . This is better.”

True to her word, a few minutes later we’re both sipping steaming mugs of Earl Grey in the lamplight, the room quiet now that the kids are down for the night. The warmth seeps into my fingers. Across from me, Chelsea sets her mug on the table and brushes a stray hair from her face.

“I hope I’m not overstepping,” she says, “but... is everything alright between you and Declan?”

I lift a brow. “You don’t want to overstep, but you’re definitely about to.”

She gives me a sheepish smile. “Guilty.”

I sigh, not really annoyed. More so tired. “It’s fine. We’ve been arguing. Not constantly, but enough. There’s just a lot going on.”

“I figured as much. There’s been tension,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “You both seem like you’re being pulled in every direction.”

“We are. We thought hiring you would make things easier—and it has in some ways—but it also gave us more room to throw ourselves into work. I’m drowning in deadlines. Declan’s taking on some huge deals. We barely speak except to tag in and out.”

Chelsea leans forward slightly. “You know what I think you two need?”

“Don’t say a night out.”

“I was going to say a romantic night out,” she says, smiling. “Go somewhere nice. Have a proper dinner. Be a couple again. I’ll stay here with the kids.”

I let out a small laugh. “You’re sweet, but that’s easier said than done.”

“I’m being serious,” she says. “Let me stay with the little ones. You and Declan can have one night where you’re not putting out fires.”

I stare into my tea, considering it. We used to do that—go out—even after we got married. Even after Willow was born, we tried to keep that spark alive. But lately... lately it’s felt like we’ve forgotten how.

“He’d love that,” I murmur. “But we said your hours were nine to four.”

Chelsea shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me. I told you I don’t have much of a social life. If I weren’t here, I’d just be watching telly with a glass of wine.”

“Then we’re paying you extra.”

She smiles. “Deal. Willow’ll be thrilled too. She’s been on about that new Lilo & Stitch . We’ll have a proper girls’ night.”

By the time I go to bed, I still feel heavy with the weight of everything that happened today.

But for the first time in weeks, there’s a flicker of something different.

Maybe hope. Maybe this really is just a bad period we’ll get through.

And maybe that night out will be the beginning of finding our way back.