Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I ended the call, quickly promising her that everything would be okay and that we would talk about things when I got there. It implied perhaps to Sandra that I’d be willing to negotiate something but I have no intention of doing so. I’m not letting my child spend another minute in that house with how erratic Sandra has been acting. It might be rough on Bowie Jane to make a quick exit but at this point, I believe her mom is doing harm to her emotional well-being and I won’t let it continue.
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with my ex-wife, but this isn’t her. I can only assume it’s her boyfriend causing this behavior because either he’s egging it on directly or she so wants to please him that she’s lost her ever-loving mind when it comes to being a good mom.
Regardless… that shit stops today.
I take a deep breath, releasing the death grip I have on the steering wheel of the rental vehicle. I flex my fingers and remove my sunglasses, noting with dismay that Chet’s Mercedes is here.
Time to get this done.
As expected, it’s a shit show from the minute I ring the doorbell. Bowie Jane greets me, a mixture of relief, joy and anxiety in her gaze as she flings herself into my arms. I pick her up, noting the stranglehold she has on my neck. She pushes her cheek against mine and murmurs so only I can hear, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
That’s all the validation I need to confirm that this must be a quick exit. It’s all the more affirmed when Sandra walks into the foyer, crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me and Bowie Jane. “Go upstairs. I need to talk to your dad.”
My daughter stiffens in my arms and I turn toward the staircase, whispering ever so softly into her ear, “Get one suitcase only and put your most favorite things in it. I’ll be right up.”
Bowie Jane nods and I set her down on the first step. Rather than bolt up the flight, she turns to her mom, wringing her hands. “I love you, Mommy.”
My heart clenches because Bowie Jane becomes oversolicitous when she thinks one of us is mad at her. Sandra is hot-tempered and tends to blow easily and her voice raises when she’s angry. Bowie Jane learned long ago the best way to cool that temper is with soft words of love, which would melt the coldest heart.
In this instance, Sandra’s mouth remains in a flat line, and I’m appalled when she doesn’t return the sentiment to our daughter. Instead, she jerks her chin upward. “Upstairs. Now.”
I clench my teeth, waiting for Bowie Jane to trudge slowly upward, her shoulders sagging with defeat. When she’s out of sight and I hear her bedroom door close, I wheel on my ex-wife, noting that Chet has materialized at her side, a supportive arm around her waist.
I go on the attack, voicing my suspicion. “You’re blaming all of this on Bowie Jane, aren’t you?”
Sandra remains stubbornly mute.
“You think the judge made his ruling based on what Bowie Jane told him in private and you’re punishing her for it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says dismissively. “I place the blame squarely on you and I’m not going to let this stand. Chet and I are going to appeal so—”
“This is none of Chet’s business,” I snap, cutting off her tirade. “He’s not her father. He’s nothing to her.”
Chet looks offended. “I care for—”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Stand there and look pretty all you want, but stay out of this.” He opens his mouth, but I glare at him. “I will fucking shut it for you.”
His teeth clack together hard and he steps in closer to Sandra. My gaze slides back to her. “You are a fucking mess, Sandra. I don’t know the how or why of it, but you are an absolute failure right now as a mother.”
Her blond eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “I love my daughter.”
“Yeah? Then act like it. You make this transition easy on her because there’s no changing it. You want her back, you go through the proper channels and prove to the court that you have her best interests at heart, because clearly the judge doesn’t think you do. And until that time, you better fucking make sure you don’t level any more guilt or reprisal on her tiny shoulders because she is the innocent in all of this.”
“You have no idea—”
I roll right over her. “I don’t want to hear a single thing. I’m going up right now, packing a quick suitcase and we’re out of here. I cannot trust her in your care another minute just based on how she’s acting and the way you’re treating her.”