like shit by their parents? Fortunately, and unfortunately, I didn’t have bruises or wounds to show for the way my mother treated me. I hoped that the new guy and his family would keep her away from me.
Although, if that were the case, I’d never eat. Not that I ate much when she was around anyway. She barely bought food for the house. She counted the items she stored in the pantry to make sure I didn’t eat without permission.
“He works,” Mother continued.
Finally, one guy who wasn’t a deadbeat living with his mother. I noticed when he paid for the food. His treat, he winked at Mom when the check came.
“He could be your teacher too. You heard that his children are already done with school.” I was no longer the genius she raised.
“If they move in with us, you’ll have to share your room with Ava,” she continued daydreaming.
The road to Thornton from downtown Denver felt eternal as I continued listening to her plans. She told me how adorable it would be to have a little daughter like Ava. Didn’t she notice Ava was sixteen? She dreamt of the perfect marriage to this man who, in her mind, was willing to offer her everything she wanted but never had.
I never knew my father. No one ever explained to me who he was or why he wasn’t around. My last name is the same as my mother’s and my grandparents’. Did my father offer her this dream and then take it away from her? I had no idea, but sometimes I hoped that this sperm donor would arrive at my doorstep and claim me—treating me like a father should treat his child.
That night I understood Mom and I weren’t all that different. We both wanted a family. I just didn’t understand what I did to her to make her treat me that way.
When we arrived at the house, she looked at my bare feet. “Where are the shoes I bought you?”
I lifted my hand, showing them to her. They hurt too damn much. She bought them in a size eight. I’m a size nine.
“You’re an ungrateful bitch.” She yanked my hair from side to side.
By the time she stopped, I felt dizzy and my neck hurt. Tears pricked in my eyes, but I didn’t say anything.
“Tonight, you’re not allowed in your room. Sleep on the floor outside—without a blanket.”
She pulled the cushions from the couch and the loveseat, locking them inside the coat closet. Then, cranked the air conditioning to sixty-five and left me downstairs shivering for the entire night with a dress that barely covered me. I sat next to the couch, on top of the old carpet and held onto my knees, resting my head against them. Pain throbbed so violently around my skull that I feared that it might crack open. I truly hoped it would so someone would pay attention to what was going on in this house.
Would things improve if Corbin married her?
I needed to survive three more years. And then I’d be free.
Chapter Twenty
Wes
When I arrive at Abby’s place to have breakfast, she opens the door with bleary eyes and slightly slumped shoulders. She didn’t sleep again. And she didn’t let me stay with her. Instead of arguing with her, I hand her the rose I bought for her. She loves that I leave little presents around her office and that I bring her flowers almost daily.
I get it. It’s the simple details that mean so much. I fall in love with her each time I find a note under my mug wishing me a happy day. Abby loves sticky notes and has them in all kinds of shapes and colors. Her new thing is leaving them around with different messages. Last night she left one on my phone: I’m thinking of you. I had a long meeting, and she got me lunch. The note on it said: I missed you. See you at home.
It’s been more than a week since she came home, and we started dating. We’re adjusting, and I’m aware there are things we need to discuss, but every time I see her smile, I know that this is working out for both of us. This past Monday we decided to take turns preparing breakfast and dinner. I’ve juggled a few things around, but I’ve kept my promise of not staying at work past six thirty.
“You’re wearing jeans?” She scrunches her nose.
“Casual Friday,” I remind her. “It’s in the manual. Didn’t