“She wouldn’t do that,” she whispers, pulling my attention from her mother. “Besides, I’ve been to the doctor’s appointments with her. There’s no way that was all fake.”
“Exactly, dear,” Christine tsks. “Honestly, Ryker. I can’t believe you’d actually try to come between us like this. This is low, even for you.”
Is this bitch fucking serious right now?
“Mom,” Arabella interrupts softly, placing a hand to my chest and looking into my eyes. “He’s just being protective.”
Moving a loose strand of her silky blonde waves behind her ear, I search her eyes for any hope that this will turn out the way that I want it to, while simultaneously willing her to see things how they really are.
“Can I have a moment alone with my mother?” she pleads. “Please.”
She’s too calm and with everything I’ve said, she should be the opposite. She should be enraged. But she’s not. Christine’s hold on her is too strong. The pull is too strong.
The pull to choose. Her mother or me.
She knows I’d never force her to choose.
But she won't, because she doesn’t want to disappoint or hurt me. Instead, she’ll let this eat at her until she’s consumed by it and there’s nothing left for anyone to have.
“I’m gonna go for a walk. She better be gone when I get back.” She doesn’t have to choose, because I’m going to choose for her.
60
Ryker
By the time I got back, she was curled up in a ball, crying in bed. I’m curious how things went after I left, but I suspect nothing is changing for the better, unless I give it a little push. I sidled up against her back and held her while she cried herself to sleep. Nothing breaks my heart more than this. It’s the cruelest form of torture.
I barely slept a wink as I held her. I eventually got up to make some coffee and think, but now I’m watching her sleep like a fucking creep.
I’ve tried to help her see how amazing, beautiful, loving and kind hearted she is. How deserving she is of the unconditional love she so selflessly gives to others. She’s come so fucking far. She stands a little taller and lets her joy out more often. It’s been an amazing thing to watch her grow, but there’s a worry that runs through my gut saying there’s more that needs to be done.
That more’s name is fucking Christine. My girl takes three steps forward, just to take two back every time she’s faced with her mother’s manipulation, even when the truth is right in frontof her. Until she’s able to see her for who she really is, nothing will change. I know she’s tried to set boundaries, but every time she does, something happens to set her back again. It’s a cycle I fear will never end. At least not untilsheputs an end to it… for good. I don’t know what that looks like, but I know I can’t do it for her, no matter how much I wish I could. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m notactuallyhelping her. I’m a safety blanket. A way to distract rather than heal.
I take a moment to really look at her, with her hair cascading off her shoulder in light, soft waves, her cheeks still slightly pink from crying. A contrast against her creamy white skin. And those freckles. Fuck, I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I’ve been saying for a while now, that she’s mine. Except… she isn’t, is she?
The question forms in my mind before I can stop it and the worry that was running through me starts to grow in my chest at the realization that maybe she’s never belonged to me… at least not fully. And she never will. Not as long as her self-worth, self-esteem and all around happiness remain even partially tethered to the woman that gave birth to her twenty three years ago. A woman that doesn’t deserve the devotion afforded to her by her own daughter.
There’s only one solution I can see to fix this.
Arabella
I wake with a start, sitting straight up in bed after what feels like a bad dream I can’t fully remember. Patting the bed to find it cold and empty, a pit of worry forms in my stomach.
Where is he?
Sliding out of bed, I grab his hoodie and pull it on.
“Ryker?” I call as I step out into the open living area. I haven’t called him by his given name in a while, and I’m not sure what made me do it now. It feels sour on my tongue.
“Daddy? Are you here?”
Stepping up to the kitchen counter, I see a note.
Bella,
Had to step out for a few hours.
