I promised myself I would not drink because my mind needed to remain clear and sharp, but when I laid in an empty bed, it was too much to handle. Clara had been next to me every single night for the past twenty-four years. We had never been apart. It was unfair that I could lay in a warm bed, and her body was deep in the cold ground.

Throughout the night, I was unable to sleep. I drained one of my whiskey bottles until I heard Miles and Maisie moving around the house. I wanted to stay in the room all day, Clara's smell still lingered on the sheets, but I needed to go outside with Miles. This farm needed to keep running. The family needed this farm to survive.

I stumbled as I changed out of my dirt-splattered clothes. My head was cloudy, and I could feel myself sway as I walked. My bones and muscles ached from exhaustion. I held onto the banister as I came down the stairs so that I would not fall.

Miles and Maisie were already at the dining room table. I opened the kitchen cabinet and grabbed another bottle of whiskey. My hands shook as I poured a glass, and the alcohol splashed onto the counter. Neither of them said anything as I staggered over to the table.

I could not recall our conversation over breakfast. The day was a series of spotty memories. I tried to complete the necessary chores, but my body moved without any clear thoughts. My body continued to ache as exhaustion washed over me.

I was unsure when I fell unconscious, but I was stuck in a haze of disorientation when Miles nudged my leg with the toe of his boot. My vision was blurry, and my mouth was dry and filled with a disgusting taste. I rubbed my eyes and craned my sore neck to look up at Miles. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared down at me. I had passed out in the barn, and my back was against the wall. A cramp formed in my neck and ran down my shoulder.

"What do you want?" I asked.

My voice was hoarse and cracked. My throat burned, and I needed another drink.

"You're drunk," Miles said.

"Why does it matter?" I asked. My head ached, and I ran my hand along my temple. "I haven't been drunk in a while."

"You're being reckless," he said. "You didn't lock the door. Someone could have hurt Maisie again."

"The door is unlocked?"

"I made sure it was locked after you came outside. One of us needs to be responsible."

I chuckled, and the sound was so absurd. Miles would be the head of this family but now was not the time. He was protecting this family, but he could not take my moment of weakness as an opportunity to assert dominance over me.

"The doors should have never been unlocked," I said.

I let out a deep breath. The doors were a test for Maisie. None of this was ever supposed to happen. I was afraid she may try to leave, but I never thought that an intruder would come into our home. Was this guilt always going to haunt me? Would there be enough alcohol to get rid of this feeling that was tearing my mind apart?

"The doors will never be unlocked again," I said. "No one else will ever be inside the house again."

Miles was silent. His unreadable expression did not change as he watched me. I needed to get off the ground, but I did not have the strength.

"No one will ever come onto the farm again," Miles said. "There will be consequences if they do."

I could not hold back my laughter. My head tilted back against the wall as I chuckled. Miles did not react to my misplaced drunken laughter.

"What are you going to do if someone comes onto the farm?" I asked sarcastically.

"I'll kill them."

There was no hesitation in his voice. His cold demeanor did not change as he spoke. I was unsure if he was serious, but I had no doubts he would do it again. Without a second thought, he had murdered that intruder to protect his wife and his mother.

I held my hands up as I shook my head. The movement caused pain to shoot across my temple like lightning bolts. I gritted my teeth but tried my best not to show I was in pain. Miles did not move from his spot.

"Kill who we need to kill," I said. "This family is all that matters."

"If family is all that matters to you, then you need to stop drinking," he said. "Maisie is already worried."

I let out a huff of breath. Clara was the one who was always anxious. I would never walk into the home again to see her nervously cleaning the counter with the rag. It was another painful reminder that she was gone.

"I'll cut back," I said.

"You need to quit," Miles said.

I muttered a curse, but Miles did not react. He continued to watch me with his blank expression. Why did he always have that damn expression?

"Fine," I said. "I won't drink anymore. You happy?"

"Not at all," he said.

Miles uncrossed his arms before turning and walking out of the barn. I rubbed my aching temple as I struggled to stand. My knees wobbled and I held onto the wall to help myself get on my feet. I stretched the sore muscles in my back before walking out of the barn. My first few steps caused me to stagger, but I managed to maintain my composure.

The sun was setting, and I could not see Miles outside. I walked up to the house, and the memory of screams rang in my ears. The back door was locked. My body swayed and my hands trembled as I pulled the key off from around my neck. I opened the door to see Maisie sitting at the end of the table. Her head was buried in her hands as she softly sobbed. Miles was on one knee next to her, and his hand was on her back. He glared at me as I entered.

"Lock the door," he said.

"I know," I said.

Miles was giving me far too many orders. I rolled my eyes as I turned and locked the door. My head was spinning, making me fumble with the key. Miles did not pay attention to me as I pulled out one of the dining room chairs and sat.

Maisie took a sharp breath, but her crying did not stop. She lifted her head, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her face was red, hiding the light dusting on freckles that covered her skin. How long had she been crying? Had she sat here sobbing all day instead of doing her chores?

She would not look up at me. Her attention was focused on her stomach. She rubbed her bump as she closed her eyes and shook her head. She mumbled soft words that I could not understand.

"Maisie, what is wrong?" I asked.

"I can't do it," she said.

"Can't do what?"

She bit down on her lip and took in deep breath through her nose. Her attempt to control her tears was unsuccessful. She hastily wiped her wet cheeks. Miles brushed the stray tear-soaked strands of hair behind her ear.

"I cannot have a baby," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I cannot do this."

"You have to," I said. "There is not much choice. You're having a baby in a couple of months. You can't stop this."

Maisie's bottom lip trembled. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing again to stop her tears from overtaking her body. Miles rubbed her back as he placed his hand on her knee.

"Clara was supposed to help me," she said. "She knew what to do. How am I supposed to give birth?"

"Your body will do it naturally," I said.

Maisie furrowed her brows. Her lips parted like she was struggling to find her words. Miles moved his hand off her knee and onto her stomach.

"There is so much I don't know," she said.

"What if she gets hurt?" Miles asked. "What if the baby dies? It can happen sometimes."

"What do you suggest?" I asked, not able to hide my sarcasm. "Do you plan on becoming a midwife?"

"Mrs. Thatcher is a midwife," Miles said. "She would know."

I sighed as I ran my hand down my face. Rough stubble had grown on my jaw and the disgusting taste still lingered in my mouth. My temple throbbed, and I needed to crawl into my bed. Clara's scent on the sheets would be haunting, but I could no longer sit upright in the bright lights of the kitchen. I squeezed my eyes shut as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"We haven't spoken to Mrs. Thatcher since we left the church," I said. "I doubt she would want to help."

A hand grabbed my arm. It was small and the touch was delicate, so it could not be Miles. I lowered my hand from my face and opened my eyes to see Maisie. She was leaning across the table, and she did not remove her hand from my arm. Her eyes were wide as she chewed on her lip. She stopped crying, but her cheeks were wet with tears. My chest tightened as I looked at her frightened expression. I promised we would keep her safe, and we were failing.

"Please," she said. "I don't want the baby to get hurt. We cannot lose anyone else."

There were only three of us left. If I was going to save the Wilcox family, I needed to help Maisie. Edith Thatcher probably hated us like everyone else, but I needed to try.

"Alright," I said. "I will visit her in the morning."

Maisie's lips quivered, but she managed to smile. It was small, but it was a tiny piece of happiness I was able to provide.

Clara may have died, but I still had to take care of this family.