Chapter 3 - The Aftermath
The drive home was quiet. Maya sat in the backseat, her head resting against the window, while Lily clutched a stuffed bear against her chest. I kept adjusting the rearview mirror to look at them. The swelling on my cheek throbbed with every heartbeat, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of knowing they had heard Vanessa’s venom.
When we finally walked through our own front door, the heavy oak shutting out the world, the dam broke.
Lily dropped her bear and burst into tears, running to me and burying her face in my stomach. “Mommy, why did she say we aren't yours? Why did she say you're not our real mommy?”
I knelt down on the hardwood floor, ignoring the sharp pain in my knees, and pulled both of my girls into my arms. Michael knelt right beside us, his large frame acting as a shield around the three of us.
“Look at me,” I said softly, lifting Lily’s chin and then catching Maya’s eyes. “Do you know how Navy officers are chosen for special missions?”
Maya sniffled and shook her head.
“They are hand-picked. Out of thousands of people, the commander looks at a file and says, 'That one. I want that one because they are the best.' That is exactly how I became your mother. I didn't just get whatever baby came along. I waited, and I searched, and out of all the children in the whole world, I chose you. Both of you.”
I kissed Lily’s forehead, then Maya’s.
“Vanessa is a very sad, very angry woman,” I continued, my voice steady and completely devoid of the rage I felt. “Sometimes, angry people say things just to hurt you, not because they are true. You are my daughters. In my heart, in my soul, and on every piece of paper that matters in this world. Nobody can ever change that. Do you understand?”
Maya nodded, tears spilling over her lashes. “She hit you so hard, Mom.”
“I’m tough,” I smiled, ignoring the pull on my bruised cheek. “It takes a lot more than a slap to take down a Bennett. Well, a real one, anyway.”
That night, after the girls were asleep, Michael and I sat in the kitchen. He poured me a glass of bourbon and set an ice pack on the table.
May you like
“Grant threatened you,” Michael said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He was a civilian architect, but he had the protective instincts of a guard dog.
“Grant is an idiot,” I replied, pressing the ice to my face. “But he’s a desperate idiot. Did you see his face today? He was sweating before the fight even started. He’s terrified of something, Michael. And I’m going to find out what it is.”
