Page 22 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

22

MAYA

I wake with swollen eyes and an aching heart. The soft light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting shadows across the room that has been mine for these past months. Not truly mine. Never truly mine.

My fingers trace the indent on the pillow where my tears soaked through during the night. In the stillness of morning, the memories of yesterday hit me with renewed clarity—Varina walking out with Ellis, the coldness in Dex's eyes, the words that sliced through me.

" You're just the nanny. "

I sit up slowly, my body heavy with exhaustion. A quiet house greets me, no baby cries, no sounds of Dex moving about. The emptiness feels pointed, deliberate, like a message written in the silence. He's gone. Probably couldn't bear to face me after what happened.

Fine. That makes this easier.

I pull my travel trunk from under the bed, the scraping sound harsh against the floor. The trunk opens with a creak, and I begin methodically folding my clothes, placing them inside with precise movements. Each item represents a memory—the shirt I wore when Ellis first grabbed my braid with his tiny fingers, the pants stained with burgona puree when he knocked over his food bowl.

My practical nature has always been my shield. Even when my prestigious Silverleaf family cast me out for treating minotaur patients, I didn't crumble. I rebuilt. I established my herb shop. I survived.

I can do it again.

The scar on my right hand catches the light as I fold a tunic. The magical accident that gave me this mark also marked the beginning of my exile. I'd saved a minotaur child that day, refusing to turn them away despite my family's prejudices. The irony isn't lost on me—here I am, forced to walk away from another minotaur child I've grown to love.

My silver-blonde hair falls forward as I bend to retrieve my boots from under the bed. I push it back impatiently, making a mental note to cut it shorter again when I get home. Practical. Always practical.

I place my mortar and pestle carefully wrapped in cloth into the trunk, alongside jars of tinctures and salves I'd made for Ellis. The zabilla pouch still sits in my pocket, unused. I pull it out, staring at it for a long moment before placing it on the nightstand. Maybe Dex will find use for it, if he ever visits his nephew.

The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through me. How could he give up so easily? The Dex I thought I knew would have fought tooth and horn for his family.

But I was wrong about him. Wrong about us.

I close the trunk with a decisive snap, securing the latches. Standing in the middle of the room, I let my eyes wander one last time, taking inventory of what I'm leaving behind. My gaze catches on the empty crib in the corner.

The sight of it nearly breaks me.

I cross the room, running my fingers along the smooth wooden rails. Ellis should be here, swaddled in his blankets, making those little grunting noises as he sleeps. His absence feels like a physical wound, raw and throbbing.

My throat tightens as I remember his wide golden eyes, the way his tiny horns felt against my cheek when I held him close. How could Dex let him go? How could he surrender without a fight?

I pick up a small stuffed iypin—the toy I bought for Ellis on market day. Its three-toned indigo fur is soft against my fingers. Ellis loved to grab at its bushy tail, his eyes lighting up with fascination. I squeeze it once, then place it back in the crib. Another piece of my heart left behind.

With a deep breath, I pick up my trunk and satchel. Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last. I pause in the doorway, half-hoping to hear Dex call my name, to see him rush in and tell me he made a terrible mistake.

The house remains silent.

I make my way through the living area, past the kitchen where we prepared Ellis's bottles together, past the couch where Dex and I sat side by side during late nights when Ellis wouldn't sleep.

" You shouldn't have gotten so attached ."

The memory of his words steels my resolve. My gray eyes narrow as I reach for the door handle. I've been alone before. I survived. I'll do it again.

I step outside into the morning light, closing the door firmly behind me. I don't look back, though every fiber of my being screams to do so. My shoulders straight, my steps purposeful, I walk away from the house that almost felt like home.

I don't say goodbye to Dex. I can't. The risk of one last look at his face—those green eyes that might soften just enough to make me doubt myself—it's too great. Better a clean break than another wound that won't heal properly.

The morning air hits me like a splash of cold water as I step off the porch. The weight of my trunk pulls at my shoulder, a physical reminder of how quickly life can change. Three months ago, I was simply a herbalist with a shop and a small farm. Now I'm... what? A woman with a broken heart and memories that will haunt me.

I make it exactly seven steps from the door before my legs refuse to carry me further. My practical nature battles with something deeper, something that feels like roots being torn from soil. I set my trunk down on the path, the thud it makes against the stone seeming to echo the heaviness in my chest.

Ellis's laughter rings in my ears—that magical moment when I tickled under his chin and he responded with a sound of pure joy for the first time. How Dex had frozen in place, watching us with an expression I couldn't decipher. Now I understand it was jealousy, not wonder. Jealousy that I could connect with Ellis in ways he couldn't.

"You fool," I whisper, unsure if I'm talking to Dex or myself.

The morning breeze carries the scent of rirzed herb from a nearby garden, its sweet smell unable to mask the bitterness of this moment. My gray eyes sting as I stare at the house that never belonged to me. I press my scarred hand against my mouth, willing the trembling to stop.

I remember Ellis's tiny fingers reaching for me whenever I entered a room, the trust in his golden eyes as if he knew I would never let him down. But I have let him down, haven't I? By leaving, by not fighting harder for him. By allowing him to be handed over to a grandmother who sees him as a possession rather than the beautiful, observant little soul he is.

" You're just the nanny. "

The words echo, cutting freshly each time. Three simple words that defined my place in their lives with brutal clarity. Not family. Not loved. Just hired help with an expiration date.

A capuchos chatters in a nearby tree, its red eyes watching me curiously. I glare back at it, irrationally angry at its freedom to come and go as it pleases.

"What are you looking at?" I snap, my voice breaking on the last word.

The creature scampers higher into the branches, leaving me alone with my misery once more.

I should move. I should pick up my trunk and walk away from this house and everything in it. My shop needs tending; the gankoya roots need harvesting before they grow too woody. Life continues, with or without Ellis's warm weight in my arms or Dex's deep laughter filling a room.

Yet I remain frozen, caught between what I know I must do and what every fiber of my being wants.

I close my eyes, remembering how Ellis would calm immediately when I held him, how his tiny horns would press against my cheek as he snuggled close. I can almost feel his weight in my arms, smell that sweet baby scent that no amount of zabilla cream could mask.

My life has never felt more empty than it does right now. The void left by Ellis—and yes, by Dex too—feels cavernous, echoing with possibilities that will never be realized. No more late-night feedings where Dex and I would talk in hushed voices about everything and nothing. No more watching Ellis discover the world with wide-eyed wonder. No more pretending we were something we weren't—a family.

And yet, I know there's no place for me here. Not anymore. Not when Dex made his choice so clearly. He chose his pride, his fears, his insecurities over what we could have been. He let Ellis go rather than admit he needed help, needed me.

The practical part of me—the part that survived being disowned, that built a life from nothing—knows it's time to move on. This chapter is closed. There's no rewriting the ending.

I pick up my trunk, adjusting it against my hip. This time, my legs cooperate as I turn away from the house, away from the memories, away from the life I briefly thought might be mine.

Each step feels like walking through deep water, but I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. The way I've always survived.