Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87

Chapter 87

THEO

I sat on the blanket Dad had spread out under a big tree, clutching the stuffed wolf Mama had given me last year. It was getting old and worn, one ear was coming loose, but I wouldn’t let Dad replace it. This was from Mama. One of the last things she’d bought me before she went away forever.

“You okay, buddy?” Dad asked, settling down beside me with a heavy sigh. He’d been sighing a lot lately. Dr. Fisher said that meant he was sad too, that grown–ups had feelings just like kids even if they didn’t always show them.

“I’m okay,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure if that was true.

Dr. Fisher had given me homework today–to go to the park and try to play with other kids. To practice having fun again, she’d said. Because apparently I’d forgotten how to have fun after Mama died.

I looked around the BloodMoon Kid’s Park. It was huge, way bigger than the parks back home. There were swings and slides and climbing structures that looked like castles. Kids were running everywhere, screaming and laughing and playing chase. Their mamas and dads watched from benches or helped the little kids on the swings.

Everyone looked so happy. Like they hadn’t lost anyone important.

I hugged my wolf tighter.

“You don’t have to play right away,” Dad said, his hand gentle on my shoulder. “We can just sit here for a while. Get used to the park. Maybe in a little bit, you’ll feel like joining in.”

I nodded, but I didn’t think I’d feel like joining in. The other kids all had their mamas. They didn’t understand what it was like to lose someone so important that it felt like part of you was missing.

Dad’s phone rang, and he pulled it out with a frown. “It’s Mia. I should take this–there’s been some trouble back home. Will you be okay here for a minute?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t really want him to leave, but I also didn’t want to be a baby about it.

“Stay right here on the blanket,” Dad said, already standing. “Don’t wander off. I’ll be right over there by those benches where I

can still see you.”

I watched him walk away, phone pressed to his ear, his voice getting that tight sound it always got when he talked to Aunty Mia.

I didn’t like Aunty Mia anymore. I used to think she was nice and pretty and fun, but that was before. Before she made Mama go away. Before everything got broken.

Dr. Fisher said it wasn’t Aunty Mia’s fault that Mama died. That Mama’s body was just too sick to help anymore. But I didn’t believe that. Mama was a doctor. She was smart and strong and she could fix anything. She would have been okay if Dad hadn’t made her help Aunty Mia.

I set my wolf down carefully on the blanket and pulled out the other toys Mama had bought me. Little dinosaurs that she’d given me for my fourth birthday. We’d played with them together, making up stories about a T–Rex who was friends with a Triceratops even though T–Rexes were supposed to eat Triceratops.

“The T–Rex doesn’t have to eat his friend,” Mama had said, making the T–Rex dance. “Sometimes friends are more important than following the rules.”

My eyes got hot and wet, and I blinked hard. Dr. Fisher said it was okay to cry when I missed Mama, but I was tired of crying. I’d been crying for weeks and it didn’t make her come back.

I was lining up my dinosaurs in a row when I heard it.

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Chapter 87

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A laugh. High and happy and familiar in a way that made my heart stop.

I froze, my Triceratops still in my hand, and listened hard.

“Louis, be careful!” A woman’s voice called out. “You’re going to fall if you’re not watching where you’re going!”

“I’m okay, Mummy!” A boy’s voice shouted back, excited and breathless. “Look at me! I’m so high!”

Mummy.

My head snapped up, searching the crowd of people. There were so many parents and kids, all mixed together, moving and playing and blocking my view.

But that laugh. That voice.

It sounded like Mama.

My hands started shaking. Dad said Mama was dead. I’d seen her in the hospital, pale and still and not moving. Dad said they’d cremated her, turned her into ash, and she was gone forever.

But that voice sounded exactly like her.

I stood up slowly, leaving my dinosaurs on the blanket. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

“Louis, slow down!” The woman called again, and this time I heard it clearly. The exact way Mama used to tell me to slow down when I was running too fast. The same worried–happy tone that meant she was scared I’d get hurt but also proud I was being

brave.

I started walking toward the voice, pushing between people, trying to see.

The park was so crowded. Families everywhere. Moms who all kind of looked the same from behind–dark hair, casual clothes, holding their kids‘ hands.

And then I saw her.

About fifteen feet away, near the big climbing structure. A woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a blue sweater. She was bending down, picking up a little boy who looked about my age, maybe a little younger.

The boy wrapped his arms around her neck, and she laughed–that same laugh I’d heard before. The one that sounded like

Mama.

I couldn’t see her face clearly. She was turned sideways, and there were too many people in the way. But her hair was the same color as Mama’s. And the way she moved, gentle and careful with the little boy, was exactly how Mama used to hold me.

“Mummy, did you see how high I climbed?” the boy asked, his voice carrying across the playground.

“I saw, sweetheart. You’re getting so good at climbing. But please be more careful–if you fall, you could get hurt.”

My breath stopped completely.

That was Mama’s voice. I knew it was. I’d heard that voice every day for four years, reading; me stories and singing songs and telling me she loved me even when I was being difficult.

That was my mama.

But Dad said she was dead. Dad said she was never coming back.

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