WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue
Chapter 11: Mourning

A year later

‘You can’t keep doing this to us’ Ramana cried desperately.

‘Be quiet woman’ Farrell groaned, holding his head and swaying on the spot.

Ramana took a deep breath, her heart racing in fury. He had never spoken to her like that before. Never.

‘So is this how you’re going to spend the rest of your life? Drinking until it kills you?’

’I said be quiet!’

Farrell rounded on her, throwing the empty bottle in Ramana’s direction. If she hadn’t moved to the side, it would have hit her. The glass smashed against the wall behind her, shattering into tiny pieces. Amaia who was peering into the room from around the corner began to cry. She had never seen her parents argue like this before.

Ramana stared back at him in shock and disbelief, amazed that he had done such a thing. Then she heard her daughter crying. She turned her back on her husband, rushing over to Amaia to comfort her.

Ramana left, taking her daughter away from their home until Farrell was sober enough to stand properly. Carrying Amaia in her arms, Ramana marched out of the building, listening to her husband as he shouted after her, shouted at the terrified servants, shouted at his empty bottles.

She didn’t close the door after her. She didn’t look back, but kept on walking.

It was late by the time Ramana decided to return hours later, walking slowly up to the house, holding Amaia’s hand in hers.

The house was still, and there was no sign of Farrell or any of the servants. Ramana quietly put her daughter to bed, whispering to her to be brave and strong, and not to be frightened. Once Amaia was settled, Ramana went to her own bedroom she shared with her husband, only to find him passed out on the bed. It seemed he had continued to drink, even after they had left earlier that day.

Ramana backed out of the room, closing the door after her quietly. She walked slowly through the home and back downstairs, grabbing a blanket draped upon the balustrade as she went. Ramana slept on the sofa that night. The servants who had taken to hiding from Farrell, appeared in the night to clean up the broken glass. One of them placed another blanket upon Ramana’s shivering profile. And then they vanished.

Ramana was woken early the next morning by her daughter. She opened her eyes to see her standing there in her nightdress, hugging the pillow she had brought with her from her bedroom, a habit she did when she was upset. Ramana lifted her body up, propping herself on an elbow.

Amaia sobbed, rubbing tears from her eyes. ‘Mama….’

Ramana sat up, pulling her daughter to her in a tight hug and holding her close.

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