Page 15 of Make You Mine

Eventually, Willow dozes off beside me on the sofa, her little head dropping against my arm, curled up like she’s used to with her mother. Emmett’s already down for the night. I tucked him in myself, watching his tiny chest rise and fall.

I nudge Willow gently. “Time for bed, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t argue, bless her. Just rubs her eyes and mumbles something about Mummy and Daddy.

I hush her with a soft, “They’re not home yet.”

As I tuck her in, I can feel the jealousy crawling under my skin. What are they doing right now? Where are they touching? What are they whispering across the table in that pathetic language only lovers understand? When will he see it’s all wrong?

That she isn’t the one he belongs with?

The baby monitor crackles. Emmett’s making tiny whining noises, tossing his arms like he’s startled himself out of sleep.

I go to him at once, cradling him in my arms the way only his mother can.

“Hello, beautiful boy,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Are you hungry?”

There’s plenty of her pumped milk in the fridge, but something about offering him that feels wrong. As though I’m just filling in. But I’m not. I’m going to be more than that.

I settle into the chair she uses, gently unfastening my blouse. The air feels cool against my skin, but I don’t shiver. I’ve practiced for this. I’ve done the courses and used the pumps. I knew one day this moment would come again.

I offer him my breast, my fingers trembling slightly.

“Go on,” I whisper. “It’s alright. I know I’m not your mum… but I will be soon. I promise I taste even better.”

But Emmett recoils, turning his head. His little body twists in my arms like he’s trying to escape me. His face scrunches up, lip trembling, and that sound starts. The low whine that means a serious crying spell is on the way.

Frustration floods me. My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. For a flicker of a second, I see myself doing something I shouldn’t. Something I’d regret.

I breathe through it, inhaling and exhaling steady breaths.

“It’s alright,” I coo, forcing my voice to go syrupy. “You’re just not used to me yet. You will be. I’ll go get your bottle, yeah?”

He takes that in greedy little gulps. He finishes nearly all of it and then he’s off to sleep again, his face angelic, his lashes fluttering.

I stay awake downstairs.

The telly’s on mute, just a dull blue flicker casting shadows across the room. The rest of the house is silent. I sit like a ghost, counting each minute they’re gone, jealousy curling tighter inside me with every passing hour. It’s my fault for telling them to go out. I encouraged it.

What a stupid, selfless thing to do. And now they’re out there… together.

Kissing. Laughing. Loving.

That should’ve been our night.

I hear the car pull into the drive and my stomach tightens. I toss off my glasses and pull the blanket over me, settling in like I’ve been asleep for hours.

They come bursting in like giddy school kids, all flushed with rumpled coats.

Declan’s tugging on her hand, both of them laughing under their breath.

Amerie’s tipsy—her laugh is too loud, her gait too clumsy—and Declan looks just as gone.

They pass the sitting room, poking their heads in to check on me.

I don’t move, holding my breath in.

They assume I’m fast asleep and move on, heading upstairs to peek in on the children.

The second I hear their footsteps fade, I’m up. The blanket drops from my shoulders and I creep across the room in the dark, as silent as possible. I climb halfway up the stairs, gripping the cool banister, listening.

They check on both children, just like always. Then they go into their bedroom, forgetting to lock the door.

I know this because I don’t hear the click. And that means I can still get in.

It’s none of my business, of course. I’d never dare interfere. Not in any overt way.

But I do remain just outside their door, standing perfectly still in the dark, listening as if my entire existence depends on what I hear.

I pick up on it all. The pad of their footsteps as they move about the room, the soft breathy laughs Amerie gives, the rustle of clothes, even the subtle smack of their lips as they kiss.

My stomach lurches the moment the mattress gives a telltale squeak.

Then comes his growl. Her moan answers it. She chants his name. Over and over like it’s the only word she knows. And I know exactly what they’re doing.

I clench my fists so tightly that the nails slice into my palms, a pathetic attempt to ground myself as rage sears through me. The jealousy burns so hot it almost peels the skin from my bones. I can hardly breathe, let alone think. All I can do is feel .

They’ve completely lost themselves in one another, utterly unaware that just on the other side of the door, I’m falling apart.

What’s almost laughable is that they’re trying to be discreet. I can tell from the way they stifle their moans and gasp through their pleasure. But it’s useless. Their desire rings out like church bells. The slap of flesh, the rhythm of the headboard, the feral sounds he makes when he’s close.

The pressure builds inside me until I can’t stand it any longer.

My hand slips to the doorknob.

I turn it slowly. Carefully . Just enough to crack the door open, just wide enough to see.

And what I do see makes my heart collapse.

Moonlight spills across their tangled bodies like something out of a film. Declan is above her, his powerful frame bearing down with punishing, possessive rhythm. Amerie is clawing at his back, her face slack with bliss as she arches beneath him, coming apart at the seams.

I start to cry before I register I am.

The tears are hot streaking down my cheeks, coming from years of being unseen. Never in my life have I wanted to be someone else more.

I deserve to be her.

It’s a cruelty I can no longer stomach. I shut the door with care and flee down the hallway, the sting of rejection blooming into rage so bright it threatens to split me open.

I burst into the kitchen, my eyes locked on the block of knives beside the sink. I don’t think about it as I dart toward them. My head fills with images of myself grabbing the biggest one, dashing upstairs, making them pay.

Making them feel what I feel.

Untold levels of pain.

But at the last moment, something else wins out. Not sense exactly. Just strategy.

This isn’t how I planned it.

I’ll finally have what I’ve always wanted soon enough. A real family to call my own.

I just have to be patient and work for it.

Breathing hard, I step away from the knives and move to the cupboard with the boiler.

I slam my foot against the valve until something gives.

A sharp thunk of metal on metal. It echoes louder than I mean it to, but I move quickly to cover my tracks, shutting the door and hurrying back into the living room.

By the time Declan comes downstairs, I’m curled on the sofa beneath a throw blanket, glasses off, face slack, the picture of exhausted innocence.

He barely looks at me before he turns off the telly and takes the bowl of popcorn.

But his scent lingers long after he’s gone. It’s the warm, woody, familiar musk of him that hangs in the air like a promise.

I breathe it in deeply, letting it soothe me to sleep.