Things I remember

Hannah POV

The saddest things in our lives are the things that we have to let go of, and sad is I will have to let go of my future and my parents. 

 I'm sitting on our porch, my father's attorney, who has just explained to me what important things my siblings and I inherited, who has told me about the house deeds that are in my name now, and who has given me my father's letter said that is a big tragedy that we lost our parents so early before he left 10 minutes ago.

I am sad because I lost my parents, I am sad because now there will be no more memories of them, and I remember so many things about them.

I remember at the beginning before Maddie came, there was always my dad and me, my mom... well, my dad told me only that one day she had just decided that married life is not for her, that she had wanted to see the world and the firefighter working almost 50 hours every week and a small baby girl were not what she had wanted. 

So she packed, and she was gone.

After that, she has never tried to contact me or has been interested in any sort of keeping in touch with me. I don't miss her, never have, probably because I don't remember her. Not unlike my dad, with him, I have so many memories.

I remember my dad was working a lot but also was smiling a lot. He took good care of me. He taught me how to be brave and how to be kind. He gave me so many reasons to be happy and so many good memories.

I remember he liked fried chicken, and he baked from time to time, of course not well, but still, it was always an adventure to clean the kitchen after his baking. He used to tell me ghost stories and made the best pancakes ever.

I remember he hated the pink color, and instead of buying me toys, he preferred to take me into the woods. My dad loved woods. We spent many days there, he used to take me hiking and trekking almost immediately after I learned how to walk, and he spent hours with me in the woods every weekend, and I loved it.

I remember he bought the cabin in the woods about an hour from the city we lived in when I was four, and we spent many days, nights, summer weekends, and winter breaks there.

I loved woods, I've always felt safe in woods, and after all, it was woods that gave us Maddie.

I remember the day she came into our life. 

I was eight, and it was winter, and my dad and I were in our cabin. I think there was a blizzard, so much snow, and so strong wind, but I felt safe. I always felt safe with my dad. It was an evening, my dad was cooking, and I was trying to read a book when I heard some kind of noise, like whimpering and slightly scratching from beneath the floor. I was a curious child, so I stood up and went to see if there was something in our basement probably.

 And it was, it was a wolf, a shivering and bleeding wolf.

When I saw her, I thought that wolves should have been scary, but that one, that particular one wasn't scary at all. I remember she looked scared, helpless, and in pain.

She must have entered our basement through one of the small broken windows she had broken to enter. She looked desperate, desperate for help, desperate for shelter, desperate for warmth. She was lying on the floor in something that looked like a pool of blood and melted snow shivering and whimpering. 

Honestly, I had no idea what I should've done. My dad always told me that injured wild animals should be put away from their misery, but for some strange reason, I felt that I wanted her to be safe and comfort her. 

Dad heard the noise and came down to the basement. I looked at him and started begging:

"Daddy, please don't kill it; it's beautiful."

But Dad didn't look at me, and he didn't listen to me. His eyes were wide open, and he suddenly became so pale. I turned around to look in the same direction, and there was no wolf anymore.

 There was still blood on the floor, there was still snow coming through the broken window, and there was still whimpering but no wolf. On the floor was lying a woman, naked and injured woman, she looked at my dad, and there was so much despair and sadness in her eyes when she whispered:

"Please help me, help my pups..."

I think the only reason my dad didn't run away with me was that there was a blizzard outside, and because of that, we were pretty much stuck inside the cabin. I have no idea how long he stayed there holding my hand and just looking at the stranger on our basement floor, but after some time, he snapped out of it and rushed to help her.

He took her upstairs and put her in bed. She started screaming and trashing in a bed, and I remember her huge belly and all the blood and water coming from between her legs. 

She gave birth that night. She gave birth to two small boys. My dad looked after her, helped her to give birth, cleaned the babies, and wrapped them in clean towels. And kept saying she was safe, that he wouldn't hurt her, that he wouldn't hurt her babies.

I remember she growled a little like a wild animal, like a scared animal. She watched his every move, making sure that he or I were no threats, the desperation in her eyes. At some point, she passed out because she was exhausted, starved, and because of blood after the delivery.

And my dad was all the time calm. I think it was his firefighter's spirit, his instinct to help whoever was asking for help. She slept for many hours after giving birth. I was sitting pretty much glued to my dad and kept asking:

"What's happening? Who is the lady? How did the babies come? What is going on?"

 He just smiled at me and said:

"I will give you all the answers when I have them, but nothing bad happened. You helped me save three lives today, honey".

We spent with Maddie and her babies three days in the cabin, and I still think the blizzard had something to do with that. Once she woke up, she was pretty freaked out, and it took my dad some time to calm her and ensure she was safe; we only wanted to help. They spoke without me that night, and he decided to trust her whatever she told him, and he never regretted that decision.

During those three days, I spent lots of time just looking at Maddie holding her sons when she was feeding them, or she calmed them. I also watched my dad; he had to be the one to clean and change them because she was so weak she couldn't leave the bed.

When it was possible again to drive back to the city, my dad took me back home, and he left me in the care of the neighbors, saying that he had an important business trip, but in reality, he spent two more weeks with Maddie in the cabin. 

Of course, before he left, he had made sure I understood that I couldn't speak about what had happened with nobody, and I understood. I was good at keeping secrets, and the wolf who had changed into a lady was a big secret to be kept.

Maddie lived with her sons in our cabin for the next few months. We visited her very often. My dad liked talking with her, playing with her babies, and spending time together. I remember the first time she brushed my hair, the first time she sang to me, the first time she changed into her wolf and played with me and my dad in the snow.

And I remember that one day I caught them kissing in the kitchen and asked when they wanted to have sex. I remember the faces they made, both of them.

In summer, she was living with us in the city. Dad told everybody that she was the widow of some distant relative, and nobody asked any questions. My dad loved her, loved her so much, and she loved him even though it took them almost a year to inform me that since then, we were a family officially.

I remember my dad helping her sons James and Jason to learn to walk, use the toilet, learn their first words, and do all the things fathers should have done. He loved them as much as he loved me. The same was with Maddie; she was my mother; she was there to hold me when I was sad, to read me stories in the evening, to help me, play with me, and teach me.

I remember the day she thoroughly explained to me who she was, told me about werewolves, packs, alphas, and rules that pack members should obey and that she had escaped because that was the only way to give her children a better life.

I remember that my sister, Rosie, was born the same day I was born and that she was so tiny and sweet.

I remember all those years when we were family and... 

...I remember that my parents died in a hit-and-run accident five days ago; that was the day my world crumbled.

So here I am, sitting on the porch; there is a letter in my hand from my dad's attorney, my dad's fucking letter, and the only reason I can't read it is that on the envelope there are words "Maddie." My dad wrote it for Maddie in case something happened to him because he had never thought that he and Maddie could die together.

I feel so tired, I'm tired of all the funeral preparations, and I'm tired of the funeral itself. I didn't cry, probably because everybody around me was crying and perhaps because I have no strength to cry anymore because I don't sleep too much. 

Rosie, who is now three years old, keeps crying every night, saying that she wants her mommy, I'm tired of explaining to her that her parents won't come back every time she asks about them, and she asks often. I'm so tired because Jason and James keep saying they want pancakes every morning, and then they start sobbing because Dad used to make the best pancakes ever, and they wanted Dad's pancakes, not mine.

 I'm tired because I've been cooking, I've been cleaning, I've been dealing with funerals, I've been holding them, I've been saying that everything would be alright, and I'm trying so hard to convince all three of them that one day we will feel normal again.

I'm only 19 years old, and I won't go to my chosen college because I have to stay here and raise three children, three werewolf's children, to be specific. The boys are 11, so their first wolf shift is around the corner, and I will have to do it alone without Maddie, without my dad. I'm so tired of feeling so afraid of what the future holds for us.

"Hannah, Rosie is crying cause she spilled the milk on the counter!" I hear Jason calling me, and I sigh and get up, thinking that I'm tired of being tired.

I calmed Rosie, cleaned the milk, did laundry, and I started preparing dinner. 

Jason and James are sitting on the couch, staring at the TV screen like a pair of zombies. I'm so sure they do not pay attention to what is going on on a TV screen. Rosie is sitting next to me on the counter and is playing with some sugar cubes. She looks like her mum: curly red hair, lots of freckles, and green eyes. She's three and usually very talkative, but not today. I think today she said 10 in total words. She keeps crying and watching us, me, and the boys, as if she is afraid that if she stops, we will disappear like parents.

Jason and James have not argued since our parents died, which for them is an absolute record of a lifetime because usually, they bark at each other at least 20 times per day, and now they are sad. It's honestly the only thing I can see when I look at them. I think they look like their biological father: brown eyes and dark hair.

Just when I think about their biological father, I hear a knock on the door. James goes to open it, and then our lives change forever again in the same week. And even though I thought that the funeral was hectic, what happens after the door is opened is hectic as hell.