Love Rush (LarssonSiblingSeries#4)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Unedited ❤️

Tilly

I stop in my tracks. Not quite believing my eyes. The packet of ramen crushing in my grip when I see the little girl giggling at the end of the aisle. Annabelle. I know it's her. It has to be because she looks just like me. I can't tear my eyes away from her straight strawberry blonde hair, rosy cheeks and vivid green eyes as she stares up at the woman in front who's dangling a packet in her direction. I want to shout out her name, but my lips are numb. I can't. She doesn't know who I am. I'd only scare her. And, my soul aches.

"Which ones?" the woman asks, smiling big, her American accent carrying over here. "You can have one, Annabelle."

The realisation that my instinct was right hits me way harder than I thought it ever could. I feel sick to my stomach. A jealous rage washing over me. The noodles in my hand crunch and turn into dust when I tighten my grip, throwing them into my basket. God, this is so fucked up. A living nightmare. Why is my life so traumatic? I don't deserve this. Maybe at first I did, but not now.

"Pwease, mommy," she says, her accent not in the slightest bit English.

I step back.

It's not her.

Christ.

Now I'm imagining other people's kids as mine?

I search for my purse in my pocket and make my way towards the checkout, needing to get away. The bottom of my heel clicks on the tiled floor, gaining the woman's attention. We stare at each other and I'm struck by her expression. It's you, she all but says. My eyes follow her arms as they wrap around Annabelle, surrounding her like a momma bear. I glance towards the little girl and then back to the woman and it hits me. This is my little girl.

"I changed my mind. You can have both," she says, dropping the packets into the basket.

"Yay," Annabelle shouts, gripping onto who is obviously Melissa's hand and hurries next to her as they rush off and out of sight.

I stumble over my feet to make it to the checkout, too distracted in my head to remember how much the cashier charged me. The walk home a blur until I crash into my bathroom and sob to the high heavens. I slide down the door and wrap my arms around my legs, bowing my head so the tears dribble down my chin. The searing pain in my chest so bad, I worry that I'm having a heart attack. Every muscle in my face burning.

As I thought about her beautifully perfect face, tiny body and big smile, it became all too much to handle. My daughter. My Annabelle. The baby I used to sing to when I was wide awake at night because she was kicking up a storm in my stomach. The agony I felt durning labour melting away the moment she was placed on my chest, her cries settling the moment I spoke. My instant best friend is now nothing but a memory.

The tears eventually stop and I find the strength to pull myself to my bed, calling in sick at the shelter. My body feeling too heavy with regret to move. Why didn't I fight harder? Let Dylan win?

"Tilly?" Pats voice echoes down the line, pulling me from my misery. "You okay, love? You keep mumbling nonsense."

I curl up onto my side, tugging the duvet up to my nose. "I don't feel good. I'm calling in sick."

"You never get sick. What's up? It's not that horrible stomach flu, is it?"

"No, I just have the worst headache. I want some pain relief and bed."

And a bottle of vodka to drown my sorrows.

Pat leaves a long silence before saying, "What pills you taking?"