Chapter 65 - afternoon stroll

Jude.

It had been weeks since Rosie’s visit to her parents’ house, and I’d been watching her carefully the entire time, checking on her constantly for any signs that the confrontation left some kind of emotional wound that was festering, but she seemed fine.

She smiled more and seemed like she didn’t care at all, like she had moved on from them. Although I was relieved, I was still half expecting her to break down at some point.

Then five days ago, a phone call came, and everything shifted in a way I hadn’t expected at all. I’d been in the kitchen making lunch when I heard Rosie’s phone ringing in the living room, and she answered, "Hello."

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Wolf has heightened hearing, so that means I could hear the conversation. I paused what I was doing when a male voice filtered through and introduced himself as an officer from the local police department. And my entire body went on alert immediately because why would the police be calling my mate?

"Ms. Martinez?" the officer asked, and I moved closer to the doorway without even thinking about it, my protective instincts flaring up. "I’m calling regarding your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Martinez."

There was a pause, and I watched Rosie’s face carefully from where I stood; her expression stayed completely blank as she said, "Yes?" in a flat, emotionless tone.

"I’m sorry to inform you that there was a gas leak at their residence last night," the officer continued, and I could hear the sympathy in his voice. "The house caught fire, and by the time the fire department arrived... I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am." Both of your parents died in the incident."

I braced myself for her reaction, for the tears or the collapse or the denial, already moving forward to catch her if she fell. But Rosie just stood there with the phone pressed to her ear and said in that same cold, detached voice, "I see," she said.

The officer seemed taken aback by her response because there was confusion in his tone when he said, "Ma’am, I understand this must be shocking news, and we’ll need you to come down to—"

"I don’t know them," Rosie cut him off mid-sentence. "They aren’t my parents. I was disowned. So anything about them, any arrangements or decisions or whatever else needs to be handled, shouldn’t be directed to me."

"But ma’am, you’re listed as their next of kin and—"

"No," she refutes firmly. "Find someone else. I have nothing to do with those people. Don’t call this number again about them."

Then she hung up and set the phone down on the coffee table. As if noticing me staring, she whipped her head in my direction in a detached voice, "Gas leak at my parents’ house, and they’re dead.”

I stared at her, waiting for something, anything, some kind of emotional response because even if she’d cut them off, they were still her parents, still the people who’d raised her even if they’d done a terrible job of it. But she just shrugged her shoulders and walked past me toward the kitchen, asking, "What are you making for lunch?" I’m starving."

Part of me was shocked by how cold she was being, but a larger part of me was proud of her for it, proud that she’d truly cut them out of her life so completely that their deaths didn’t even register as something worth grieving over. They didn’t deserve her tears or her pain, not after everything; they’d blamed, shamed, and rejected her.

So if she wanted to be detached about their deaths, then I was going to support that completely because fuck them honestly; they’d made their choices, and now they were gone.

So today I decided to take her out on a proper date. She was seven months pregnant now. We’d gone to see a new movie that had just been released, some romantic comedy that made Rosie laugh so hard she kept having to excuse herself to use the bathroom because Snow was pressing on her bladder, and watching her laugh like that, so carefree and genuinely happy, made my chest skip with how much I loved this woman.

After the movie I’d suggested we take a walking date through the town square, and she’d agreed immediately, her face lighting up with excitement. It was a beautiful day, warm with a gentle breeze that made it perfect weather for walking around, and Rosie looked absolutely radiant in the yellow sundress she’d worn, the fabric flowing around her pregnant belly and the medium-sized beach hat shading her face from the sun.

I couldn’t stop staring at her as we walked, and couldn’t stop admiring how the yellow color brought out the brightness in her blue eyes when she looked up at me and made her skin seem to glow. Though honestly no color could ever dim her beauty, she could wear a trash bag, and she’d still be the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in my entire life.

We were halfway through the square just browsing and enjoying each other’s company when Rosie suddenly stopped mid-step, which made me also pause.

"Jude," she breathed out. “I want that," she said, pointing at a bakery store, and I smiled.

"Sweetheart—" I started to say, but she was already moving, her hand shooting out to grab mine and pull me toward the store.

"Snow and I are craving for..." she muttered.

I let her tug me along when we entered the small bakery, and Rosie made a beeline straight for the counter, pressing her face close to the glass display case and pointing at the last two donuts sitting on the tray. "Those," she said to the store lady. "I want those two, both of them."

The store lady smiled warmly and said, "Of course, dear, let me just—" but before she could finish her sentence, a small child burst into the shop and ran straight to the counter, pressing their little face against the glass right next to Rosie and pointing at the exact same donuts.

"I want one of those!" the child announced loudly with that demanding tone.

I watched Rosie’s head slowly turn to look at the kid, and I could see her face scrunched. "I want both," she reiterated, completely ignoring the child standing right there.

The store lady looked between Rosie and the kid, clearly trying to figure out how to handle this situation. "Well, there are two donuts here," she said slowly with a nervous smile. "Perhaps you could take one and let the little one have the other?" You know, sharing is—"

"No," Rosie interrupted, shaking her head, "I want those two, and I was here first," she said. “I ordered it first.”

“I saw it first!” the kid countered.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud because my mate was seriously about to fight a literal child over donuts, and it was both ridiculous and somehow endearing at the same time.

The kid wasn’t backing down either, pointing insistently at the donuts, "But I want one!” the kid said stubbornly, jabbing his finger against the glass. "I want that one!"

"No," Rosie repeated flatly.

And then right there in the middle of the bakery, the child threw themselves dramatically onto the ground and started wailing, tears streaming down his face, limbs flailing everywhere, the whole dramatic performance designed to get attention and sympathy.

***

I don’t want to dive into how karma eats Rosie’s parents’ ass, but this is just an offscreen account of what happened. We don’t know how the gas leaked in the house... I leave the mystery to you readers. Pt 2 coming soon