The Mother's Place
1880 Words
SERENA
The nursery was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the lamp beside the rocking chair. Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, but within these four walls, a fragile kind of peace existed. The faint scent of baby powder and warm milk lingered in the air, a scent that had slowly woven itself into my life over the past month.
Lucy was curled up against my chest, her tiny body warm and soft, her breaths deep and even. Her delicate fingers clung to my sweater, as if even in sleep, she was afraid I would disappear. Her long lashes rested against her rosy cheeks, and for a moment, she looked so much like Eleanor that my throat tightened. Lucas was sprawled beside me, his chubby hand still wrapped around my finger, his little mouth slightly open. They looked peaceful now, but the hours leading up to this moment had been anything but.
Tonight had been particularly difficult. For the past few days, I had tried to take Damien’s advice—to put distance between myself and the twins, to help them learn to rely on others. But it hadn’t worked. They had screamed until their little voices went hoarse, refusing to be comforted by anyone else. They had refused their food, sobbing until their tiny bodies shook with exhaustion. It had been unbearable to watch, to listen to their cries and not be able to do anything.
And then tonight, Lucy had collapsed into my arms, her body trembling with fatigue, her sobs breaking into quiet sniffles the moment I held her close. Lucas had soon followed, burying his face into my side as if I was the only person in the world who could make him feel safe.
I had tried to stay away. I had tried to be distant. But how could I?
I tightened my arms around Lucy, my hand gently stroking her soft curls. The thought of leaving them, of letting them grow up without someone to love them like a mother would, made my stomach twist painfully.
I wasn’t their mother.
But I wanted to protect them like one.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my fingers brushing over Lucy’s tiny back as I looked down at Lucas. They were so small, so helpless. They had already lost the one person who was supposed to love them unconditionally. How could I let them lose me too?
Would they even remember Eleanor when they grew up? Would they ever know how much she loved them?
Tears burned behind my eyes. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be. But these two—these fragile, innocent souls—were my sister’s children. They were the last pieces of her left in this world.
If I left, who would hold them like this when they cried?
Who would make sure they felt safe?
Who would love them the way Eleanor would have wanted?
A soft knock at the door broke my thoughts. I stiffened, my hand stilling against Lucy’s back. The door creaked open slightly, and in the dim light, I saw Damien standing there, his tall frame casting a shadow over the doorway. His dark eyes flickered between the twins and me, his gaze unreadable.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Neither did I.
Because in this moment, I already knew what I had to do.
And I had a feeling Damien knew it too.
……….
The nursery was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the lamp beside the rocking chair. Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, but within these four walls, a fragile kind of peace existed. The faint scent of baby powder and warm milk lingered in the air, a scent that had slowly woven itself into my life over the past month.
Lucy was curled up against my chest, her tiny body warm and soft, her breaths deep and even. Her delicate fingers clung to my sweater, as if even in sleep, she was afraid I would disappear. Her long lashes rested against her rosy cheeks, and for a moment, she looked so much like Eleanor that my throat tightened. Lucas was sprawled beside me, his chubby hand still wrapped around my finger, his little mouth slightly open. They looked peaceful now, but the hours leading up to this moment had been anything but.
Tonight had been particularly difficult. For the past few days, I had tried to take Damien’s advice—to put distance between myself and the twins, to help them learn to rely on others. But it hadn’t worked. They had screamed until their little voices went hoarse, refusing to be comforted by anyone else. They had refused their food, sobbing until their tiny bodies shook with exhaustion. It had been unbearable to watch, to listen to their cries and not be able to do anything.
And then tonight, Lucy had collapsed into my arms, her body trembling with fatigue, her sobs breaking into quiet sniffles the moment I held her close. Lucas had soon followed, burying his face into my side as if I was the only person in the world who could make him feel safe.
I had tried to stay away. I had tried to be distant. But how could I?
I tightened my arms around Lucy, my hand gently stroking her soft curls. The thought of leaving them, of letting them grow up without someone to love them like a mother would, made my stomach twist painfully.
I wasn’t their mother.
But I wanted to protect them like one.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my fingers brushing over Lucy’s tiny back as I looked down at Lucas. They were so small, so helpless. They had already lost the one person who was supposed to love them unconditionally. How could I let them lose me too?
Would they even remember Eleanor when they grew up? Would they ever know how much she loved them?
Tears burned behind my eyes. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be. But these two—these fragile, innocent souls—were my sister’s children. They were the last pieces of her left in this world.
If I left, who would hold them like this when they cried?
Who would make sure they felt safe?
Who would love them the way Eleanor would have wanted?
A soft knock at the door broke my thoughts. I stiffened, my hand stilling against Lucy’s back. The door creaked open slightly, and in the dim light, I saw Damien standing there, his tall frame casting a shadow over the doorway. His dark eyes flickered between the twins and me, his gaze unreadable.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Neither did I.
Because in this moment, I already knew what I had to do.
And I had a feeling Damien knew it too.
Chapter Nine: The Terms of Our Marriage
Serena’s POV
The nursery was quiet, save for the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the gentle breathing of the twins. A warm golden glow from the nightlight cast flickering shadows across the walls, its dim light making the room feel more intimate, more fragile. The air smelled faintly of baby powder, a scent that had become all too familiar over the past few weeks.
Lucas stirred in his crib, shifting slightly, but his tiny face remained peaceful. Lucy was curled on her side, her small hand gripping the edge of her blanket. Watching them like this, so innocent, so oblivious to the world’s cruelty, I felt my chest tighten.
This was why I was doing this.
I exhaled slowly before turning toward Damien, who stood near the window, his posture rigid, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress slacks. The moonlight spilled through the glass, outlining the sharp angles of his face—his strong jaw, the slight furrow in his brow, the unreadable look in his dark eyes. He was still in his dress shirt from earlier, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, as if he hadn’t had the time or energy to change.
I swallowed, forcing myself to push aside the lingering hesitation. "I’ll marry you," I said, my voice quieter than I intended but firm nonetheless.
Damien didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
But I wasn’t done.
Before he could say anything, I lifted my chin and spoke again, my tone cool and unwavering. "But don’t expect anything from me."
At that, he finally reacted—his jaw tightening, his gaze sharpening slightly.
"This isn’t a real marriage, Damien," I continued, stepping closer to the cribs. "I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for them. That’s the only reason I’m agreeing to this. Nothing more, nothing less."
The weight of my words settled heavily in the air between us, but Damien remained eerily silent. I expected him to argue, to scoff, to say something cruel in return.
Instead, he let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"You think I expect something from you?" His voice was sharp, edged with something bitter.
I frowned, crossing my arms. "I just don’t want there to be any misunderstandings."
"Trust me," he said dryly, finally shifting to face me fully. "The only misunderstanding here is that you think I would ever want anything beyond this arrangement."
I stiffened, my fingers curling at my sides.
His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something cold, distant. Something that made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t like.
"You don’t have to remind me, Serena," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Because I wouldn’t dream of touching someone who isn’t Eleanor."
Eleanor.
Her name alone was enough to knock the air from my lungs.
I clenched my teeth, forcing the sting of his words deep down where they couldn’t reach me. "Good," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Then we’re in agreement."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The nursery, once a place of warmth and comfort, felt suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, the silence stretching unbearably between us.
I turned back toward the cribs, brushing a gentle hand over Lucy’s soft curls. "They deserve a mother figure in their life," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "I don’t care what anyone else thinks, but I won’t let them grow up without someone to hold them when they cry or to tell them bedtime stories when the nightmares come."
Damien exhaled sharply behind me. "You think I don’t want the same thing?"
I straightened, looking over my shoulder. "You’re not enough for them, Damien."
His eyes darkened.
"You love them," I said, softer this time. "But you can’t be their mother."
His silence was deafening.
I took a steady breath and turned toward the door, my heart pounding. "I’ll marry you," I said once more. "But let’s be clear—I’m not your wife. I never will be."
I reached for the doorknob, my fingers trembling slightly, but before I could step out, his voice stopped me.
"That makes two of us."
I didn’t look back.
But somehow, those words hurt more than I wanted to admit.
- Writer
