CH 6 - Helena
1243 Words
HELENA POV
The bell over the boutique door chimed with a delicate, pretend-elegant sound that did absolutely nothing to convey the chaos storming into the shop with me. Two and a half years old and my sons already ran like they were being chased by armies. Or chasing them. Hard to tell most days.
“Sebastian, do not touch that mannequin. Please. Stephan, you cannot eat that flower, it is fake. Put it down. No, put it down gently.”
I caught up to them just as Trish sidestepped a runaway toddler and scooped the other into her arms. She did it with the grace of someone who had been a witch long before she became my friend, unshaken by tiny hurricanes in human form.
“Your offspring,” she said as Stephan wriggled upside down like a greased otter, “are unstoppable.”
“They get it from your side,” I muttered, catching Sebastian before he disappeared under a rack of chiffon gowns.
“Excuse me?” Trish raised an eyebrow.
“You taught them how to walk when they were eight months old. That was the beginning of the end.”
She snorted and kissed the top of Stephan’s head before setting him down. He immediately ran toward a display of toddler tuxedos, shrieking with excitement. Sebastian followed, both of them pointing at the tiny suits like they had discovered treasure.
Sometimes I looked at them and couldn’t breathe for an entirely different reason. The miracle of them. The impossibility. The way they looked at the world like it had never once hurt them.
My life had changed in ways I hadn’t believed possible. Seattle felt like a world carved out of the sky, suspended far above the past. A life with routines instead of battles. Mornings in the kitchen. Work on my tablet. Trish’s laughter floating through the apartment. The squeal of little feet on hardwood. A quiet ache under everything, but quieter than before. Chaos, yes. But a softer chaos. A manageable one.
“Alright,” I said, clapping my hands once as the boys tackled a pile of miniature bowties. “We are here for tuxedos, not destruction.”
“What is the difference?” Trish murmured.
“Fair point.”
We herded the twins into the fitting area, where a shop assistant with pastel-pink hair immediately melted the moment she saw them.
“Oh my god, they are angels.”
I decided not to correct her. She would see the truth soon enough.
The boys tried on three different tuxedo sets. The first one was too stiff, the second too shiny, the third just right. Black velvet jackets. Tiny suspenders. Little white shirts they immediately stained with cookie crumbs. I ordered two sets before they could tear them apart.
Then came the part I dreaded.
Dress time.
The assistant guided me to the other side of the boutique where bridal gowns sparkled under warm lights. Trish plopped down on a velvet chair with both toddlers half-sitting, half-climbing onto her legs.
“Pick something,” she told me. “We will be here encouraging you and preventing property damage.”
I inhaled slowly and stepped toward the racks.
It felt unreal, touching the fabrics. Silk, lace, tulle, beads sparkling under soft lighting, reflecting gold and rose. It should have made me excited, nervous, breathless.
Instead it felt like I was trying on someone else’s future.
The first gown was too heavy.
The second washed out my skin.
The third looked stunning according to Trish, but staring at myself in the mirror felt like staring at a stranger wearing my face.
Maxwell was a good man. Kind, patient, steady. He made no demands of me. He didn’t ask about my past. He didn’t know about shifters, witches, dragons, or the world I had left behind like a wound that never fully closed. He asked me out gently, treated me with respect, and told me often that I deserved happiness. I really liked him, and he loved me and my sons with his whole heart. And I told him yes when he proposed. It was time to move on and accept the truth. I wasn’t going to have a mate, but I could still have a good man by my side.
But nothing I wore today made my heart move.
“You look beautiful,” the assistant said softly.
I nodded, because it was easier than explaining that beauty wasn’t the problem.
My hands rested on my stomach out of habit. Even though they were toddlers now, some part of me still felt the ghost of carrying them. And my body hadn’t been the same ever since. Stretch marks, a not-so-flat abdomen and let’s not talk about how much my breasts had changed with breastfeeding. Nothing about my life was the same, but in some ways, it was better.
That was why I decided to send a letter to Robbie. I wanted to share my happiness with my old friend, let her know I was doing well and my life was going to change. I told her about the proposal, how cute my fiancé was, but I avoided names, locations, anything that could lead my family straight to Seattle.
Trish caught my eyes in the mirror. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She knew me better than anyone these days.
“Try one more,” she said gently.
I did.
Simple satin.
A-line.
Clean, classic lines.
It fit.
It was fine.
I felt nothing.
“That’s the one,” I lied.
Trish’s mouth twitched, like she wanted to argue but respected my choice.
We paid the deposit and stepped outside the boutique. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, sticking to Stephan’s curls and Sebastian’s eyelashes as they tried to catch them with their tongues. Trish bundled them both in their tiny puffy jackets while I checked my phone.
One missed call.
Maxwell.
Then my screen lit up again.
Incoming call: MAXWELL.
I answered with a small, steady breath.
“Hey, baby,” he said, voice warm, comfortable. “Did you find the dress?”
I glanced at the boutique behind me.
At the snow swirling softly around us.
At the boys squealing near a lamp post.
At the life I had built miles and worlds away from where I came from.
“I did,” I said.
“That’s great.” He sounded genuinely happy for me. “Do you have plans tonight? I thought maybe we could get dinner. Just us. No wedding talk, I promise.”
I looked at Trish. She tilted her head, smiling like she already knew the question.
“Can you handle these two for the night?” I asked her.
She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over her heart. “A night in with my favorite gremlins? Popcorn? Cartoons? A pillow fort? Oh no, Helena, please, anything but that.”
I laughed. A real laugh. The kind that loosened something tight inside me.
“Alright,” I told Maxwell. “Dinner sounds good.”
“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
We hung up, and I slipped the phone back into my pocket.
The snow continued to fall softly around us.
My children giggled.
Trish looped her arm through mine.
For a moment, I let myself breathe.
Let myself believe this could work.
Let myself believe this was the life I was meant to have.
- Writer
