"Amelia, between the child and you, I choose you,"
the man declared emphatically, his voice ringing with a resonance that echoed like a tolling bell.
Each word struck her heart like a massive stone, creating waves and tempests in the lake of Amelia Clarke's heart.
She had always known this was what he meant — after her miscarriage, overhearing those conversations outside Madam Moreland's hospital room, learning that she couldn't have more children, and how Owen Moreland had repeatedly suggested getting a marriage certificate with her afterward. Even though he didn't offer sweets and praise, his intentions were clear to her.
Now, as he voiced it aloud, using such simple and earnest language, with such a serious and solemn tone, it still gave Amelia's psyche a significant jolt.
She felt her eyes grow hot, a sensation as if something were falling from them, sliding down her cheeks until a man's fingers intercepted and wiped away the trail.
"What about Grandma?" Amelia choked out.