It was four in the morning, and Mary and Giselle were already in the field, giggling as they fussed over the eggs.
His outburst woke Bonnie. Alarmed, she grabbed the nearest object as a weapon and hurried downstairs, fear tightening her chest.
“I knew those eggs were trouble,” she muttered bitterly. “This is not how we raise our daughters.”
She stormed outside, prepared to scold them. The girls flinched, ready for her anger. But when Bonnie saw what they were doing—Mary carefully building straw nests around the eggs, Giselle smoothing hay to cushion them—her fury ebbed into something colder, sharper.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. The eggs seemed to pulse in the early dawn light, as if hiding a dangerous secret.
Still, her daughters’ tenderness touched her heart. Their hands moved with surprising care, as though instinctively protecting something precious.
“They’ll make excellent caretakers one day,” Jack said softly, pride in his voice.
Bonnie forced a smile, though unease still coiled in her chest. She couldn’t shake the feeling that their family had welcomed something into their lives that would change them forever.