Merciless Havoc: Montana Mayhem Book 3 | America's New Apocalypse by Millie Copper

Author:Millie Copper [Copper, Millie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“Good morning, baby girl! Time to get ready for school.”

I turn over, pushing the pillow over my head.

“C’mon Sadie, your alarm went off fifteen minutes ago. You need to get up or you won’t have time for breakfast.”

I open one eye and peer at Mom. She’s already dressed for work, hair nicely done, understated but perfect makeup, and a smile on her face—a kind and engaging smile. “I made pancakes. Sebastian’s already eating.”

“Pancakes,” I repeat as my stomach rumbles. “You only make pancakes on Saturday.”

She lifts a shoulder. “And special occasions. Your first day of high school counts, don’t you think?”

“I do love pancakes.” I stretch my arms over my head. Something pulls slightly as I do, giving me a twinge of pain. I furrow my brow.

“Sadie? Did you say something?”

“Hmm?” I mutter as I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable.

“Oh, baby girl! You’re waking up!”

“Mom?” I stare at the white ceiling. One of my arms feels heavy. There’s tape on it and a tube coming out. My eyes follow the tube to a hook on the cheery wallpapered wall. I glance to my side, where I heard Mom’s voice. She’s there, next to me.

My mom.

But not wearing work clothes or makeup. Not even wearing a smile—not a real one anyway. Her hair hangs limp around her shoulders, her face drawn. And she’s too skinny. Tears stream down her face as she gives me a nod.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” A grimace crosses her face. “I was . . . ” She shakes her head. “It’s been a rough few days.” She reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair away from my face. “But you’re okay. And Sebastian’s okay. Everything will be fine.”

“Did you make pancakes?” I ask.

She gives a slight shake of her head. “We have stew. Do you feel well enough to sit up and eat, have more than you’re getting from the bag of saline?”

“I must have been dreaming. You made pancakes. We were . . . we were back home.” I look around the hotel room as memories of the previous months since the attacks come rushing back. The memories overwhelm me. I bury my face in the pillow and bawl.

Mom rubs my back while making soothing sounds. It’s several minutes before my crying settles and turns in to hiccups.

Mom lets out a small laugh. “There you go, it’s passing now. You’ve been so brave all these months. I don’t . . . I can’t even remember you crying before now.”

I shake my head. Not like this. Definitely not. Hot, angry tears will often sting my eyes, tears filled with frustration. And there have been a few weepy tears when things were bad, when my mom was taken away and I thought I’d never see her again. Even then, I tried to be brave, to keep it together so Sebastian didn’t know how scared I was.

And maybe I had a small cry once when it had been a few days since we’d eaten and I thought we might starve to death.

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