CHAPTER EIGHT: A LITTLE STORM
RINA
There's a moment before the rain begins that brief hush where the world feels like it's holding its breath.
That was how today started.
I woke to the sound of thunder rumbling far off, still gentle, like a warning. The windows were fogged with moisture, the kind that hinted at a storm coming in from the coast. Nova stirred beside me, cheeks flushed warm, her breath soft and even. Ember was already awake, cooing to herself as she twisted her tiny blanket into knots.
The sky outside was grey, the sea darker than usual steely and slow-moving. Calderhallow didn't get many storms, Miss Dalia had said, but when they came, they came with heart.
I liked that about this place. Nothing happened halfway.
Breakfast was quiet. Liora made oat porridge, and I sliced bananas for the girls. We moved around each other like dancers not saying much, but always in sync. This house, our rhythm, it had become a kind of soft magic.
And then the shop bell rang.
I wasn't expecting anyone not this early, and not in weather like this. But it was Miss Dalia, raincoat pulled tight, her cheeks pink from the wind.
"Roof's leaking," she said breathlessly. "And I can't reach the back shelves to move the wax stock. Could you?"
"Of course," I said before she could finish. "Let me get the girls into the pram."
She hesitated. "It's going to pour, Rina. Best if they stay dry."
Liora stepped in, already taking Ember from my arms. "Go. I'll watch them."
For a moment, I froze. Not because I didn't trust Liora she'd proven a thousand times over that she was their safe place. But because I hadn't stepped out alone in months.
I gave Nova a kiss and nodded. "Back in a bit."
The street was nearly empty when I stepped outside, the wind pushing strands of hair across my face. The familiar row of shops looked different under the grey sky, like they were holding each other's hands in silence.
Miss Dalia's shop smelled stronger today rosemary and melting wax, and something earthy beneath it. The back room was dim, the shelves already damp near the top where the roof had started to drip.
"Careful on the stool," she warned as I dragged it into position.
I climbed up, my hands steady even as the rain began to tap on the windows. I moved jars, sealed boxes, and packages of dried petals, one by one. My arms ached by the time I reached the last shelf.
"You're stronger than you think, Rina," Miss Dalia said, handing me a towel.
I smiled, brushing hair off my forehead. "It's the garlic and oat porridge."
She chuckled, but her gaze softened. "You've changed since you came here."
I didn't know how to respond. Changed was such a broad word.
"Better?" I asked quietly.
She shrugged. "More open. Still quiet, still cautious. But there's light now. Behind your eyes."
I looked away, blinking quickly.
The storm hit just then a sudden roar on the roof that made both of us jump. Wind shook the shutters and rain fell sideways against the windows. It was almost beautiful.
"I'll stay until it settles," I said.
"Good," she replied. "You make the best tea in town."
I sat behind the counter while Miss Dalia counted inventory, my fingers wrapped around a chipped blue mug. I liked watching the storm. It reminded me that chaos could still be beautiful. It didn't always mean destruction sometimes it just meant change.
Customers didn't come in that day. No tourists. No townsfolk. Just the storm outside and the quiet breath of old wood around us.
I thought about the girls. Wondered if Ember was chasing shadows again or if Nova had curled up in Liora's lap for her midmorning nap. I missed them already their warmth, their noise. But I also needed this. A moment. A pause.
At noon, the rain slowed. Miss Dalia handed me a fresh candle as I prepared to leave.
"For the babies," she said. "Smells like sleep."
I smiled and tucked it into my pocket.
The path home was damp, puddles forming along the gutters. The sky was still brooding, but the worst had passed. I breathed in the scent of wet earth and salt air, letting it settle inside me.
When I opened the door, Liora was on the floor with both twins on her lap, reading a picture book aloud with ridiculous voices.
"I made soup," she called over her shoulder. "There's bread too."
The girls squealed when they saw me, and I dropped to my knees to hold them both at once.
"My little storms," I whispered. "Mama's back."
That evening, after the girls had eaten and bathed and drifted off to sleep, Liora and I sat in the kitchen with bowls of soup, watching the candle flicker between us.
"You're smiling again," she said.
I stirred my soup. "I didn't even notice."
"See?" she smirked. "That's how it starts."
I bit back a laugh. "How what starts?"
"Healing."
Before bed, I lit the candle Miss Dalia had given me and set it beside the crib. The scent of chamomile, vanilla, and something warm filled the room. I stood there a long time, watching the flame, listening to the soft breathing of my daughters.
The storm had passed.
And so had something else.
Something inside me.
A layer of fear, maybe. A piece of grief. A shadow.
Whatever it was, it was lighter now.
And I was still here.
Still standing.
Still their mother.