Wren

“You always play rough, Noah. Now, look what you did!” Hannah scolds, crossing her arms as she glares at Noah who sits quietly at the corner.

“That’s enough, sweetheart,” I say softly. “Look, my arm’s better now. Your daddy has sorted it out.”

We both stare at my freshly bandaged arm as Ezra finishes. It still hurts, but at least it’s not bleeding anymore.

Noah’s lips wobble. “I’m s-sorry, aunt Wr-Wren.”

A tear rolls down his face, and he wipes his nose with ...