Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Mommy,” Hope says in a tone that says something’s on her mind.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I reply playfully.
She doesn’t smile. Instead, she asks in a hesitant voice, “Will I have to go back and live with Daddy?”
“You mean like full time?”
She nods, her face a mix of hope and fear.
“I don’t think so, honey,” I tell her carefully. “You’re with me now, but you’ll visit Daddy on some nights.”
“I don’t want to go back there to live,” she says fiercely. “He never pays attention to me. Always just has me watch TV while he works or talks to his girlfriends.”
I internally wince at the plural of “girlfriend” as I know Nelson has had a revolving door and it was confusing to Hope.
“And if he’s not working or with a girlfriend, he’s always looking at his phone,” she continues.
What in the hell is wrong with my ex? How could he think anything in the world was more important or interesting than his own daughter? I could just stare at her for hours while she slept, because that’s better than anything else I could ever be doing.
“I won’t let it happen,” I vow to her. “You’re with me forever. You’ll still spend time with Daddy each week, but your home is with me, okay?”
“Okay,” she says with a relieved smile, and I hope I can keep that promise. I have no clue if Nelson would ever go back on his deal with me, but I would bleed for my daughter not to go back to him. I think he loves her, but not the way I do.
“Make your picks,” I tell her, and she names the three books she wants me to read tonight.
After I massage her imagination with tales of princesses, Pooh, and wild things, I turn out her bedside lamp. Her room still glows as we have two night lights plugged in and she wants her bedroom door open and the hall light left on.
Ever since Hope was a baby, I’ve sang her to sleep. I don’t have the best voice in the world, but it’s apparently soothing as she usually barely makes it three songs before she’s out.
Settling onto the side of her bed, I place my hand on her chest as I start to sing. She always watches me carefully with big solemn eyes. Her lips curve into a sleepy smile, and I’m no more than a few lines into the third song before her eyes grow heavy and close. I continue singing until I hear that deep steady breathing that shows she’s out, and then I lean over and brush my lips against her forehead.
I will never, ever take this time with her for granted. It’s the most special part of my day.
Quietly standing from Hope’s bed, I ease out into the hallway. Just as I’m back in my closet, looking at the next outfit, I hear a knock on the door. It’s sharp and demanding.
I go cold for a moment because in the year I’ve been living here, no one has ever come to my door after dark apart from that one night Asher came by when I was sick. The wise people in this neighborhood go indoors at night, and the only ones out usually are the troublemakers.
Without hesitation, I retrieve my shotgun out of the locked cabinet in my closet and quickly check to ensure it’s loaded. I know it is, but still… always check.
Padding softly to the door, I quietly lean in and put my eye up to the peep hole. My entire body relaxes all at once to see it’s not a gang member—not that they’d ever knock on my door if they wanted something—but rather my ex-husband.
I unlock the door and open it. “What are you doing here?” I ask curiously, then move to the side as a silent invitation to enter.
“I came by to see Hope.” Nelson rolls his eyes when he sees the gun. I ignore his dismissal of my need for security and say, “I’ll be right back.”
It takes me just a few moments to put the gun back in the cabinet and return to the living room. This is the first time Nelson has ever been to my home.
I find him surveying the boxes I’d already packed up.
“Hope’s sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her,” I tell him. He pivots towards me, and I add, “And it would be nice if you called ahead of time. It’s disconcerting to have someone knocking on my door at night when I’m not expecting anyone.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my request, just says, “Looks like you’re moving.”
“Yeah,” I reply with a sigh. Same old Nelson, not even listening to me. “An apartment in a better neighborhood now that I can afford to.”
“Because of my hefty child support,” he grouses.
I let it go, choosing not to fight with him. It’s just not worth it, and I don’t want to ever rock the boat.