Because You Need Me.
Locked in hurt and hatred, Bella married Mike after Edward left. She’s twenty and they now have two beautiful girls that are six and two. When the past begins to haunt her, Bella, Claudia, Arabella, and Mike move out into the country. The next thing she knows her marriage and the very thing that has kept her sane for the past two years starts to falter. Her whole world is shaking beneath her and she doesn’t know what to do. Divorce is sinful in God’s eyes, no questions asked. And now her daughter is being taken from her, who can she turn to for help? Her past love comes back for her, and he won’t fight fair, for her rose-covered glasses for him seem to have disappeared.
1. Chapter 1
Rating 5/5 Word Count 792 Review this Chapter
“Bye, honey,” I said, kissing my husband as he walked out the door, “have a good day.” Then Mike went to the store he owned and I went to get six-year-old Claudia ready for kindergarten. I was only twenty, so she was adopted.
“Claudia,” I whispered in her tiny ear, pushing her shoulder-length, blonde, wavy, hair out of her face, “Claudia,” I started to tickle her, “Claudia, wake up!” she started to giggle, pushing my hands away from her petite form, “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” she was laughing now, her green eyes wide open.
“Ah-ha!” she shrieked, “help! No, stop!”
I did, pulling her in a tight hug and jumping up and down on her bed, “wake up, Claudia!”
“I’m up! I’m up!” she laughed, hopping up and jumping with me.
I laughed and jumped down, “Okay, Luvvy, time to get up and get ready for school.”
“Oh, poo,” she pouted.
“Now, now, school’s almost over for Christmas break, you can last.”
“If you say so,” she said, theatrically throwing herself over the side of her bed, “I honestly don’t think I can.”
This was why I put her in a theatre program.
I put out her clothes for school and she sighed, getting dressed.
I left to go get Arabella. I didn’t name her that, Mike did, he had insisted she be named after me somehow.
“Arabella,” I said softly, stepping into her room. She was asleep still, not surprising for a two year old. I stroked her deep red curls. She was mine child, biologically. She was Mike and I’s. She was born only a year after –
“Mom,” Claudia whispered, tapping on the nursery door, “I’m ready.”
“Ok,” I picked up Aria – that was our nickname for her – and grabbed her baby bag. I buckled her up and she squirmed, opening her bright blue eyes. He fussed a bit, but Claudia calmed her, stroking her little hand.
It took about six minutes to get to Claudia’s elementary school.
“Stay awake honey,” I told her, “It’s a rainy day so you must stay alert.”
“Okay, momma,” she pretended to yawn.
I laughed and kissed her forehead, “Have a good day, baby.”
Then I went home to do my housework.
My life is normal. My life is good. I have two beautiful daughters, one saved from a bad situation, and I’m happy.
I did the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, put away a few of Aria’s toys and played with her. It was still dreary and cold. It was raining still and the house was dark, I didn’t like to keep the lights on in the house all day, they way the light played was relaxing.
There was a call from the school around noon.
“Mrs. Newton?” it was the receptionist.
“Hello, Ms. Thompson,” I said.
“There was a problem with Claudia,” she said.“I’m sorry?” Claudia? Claudia never causes problems, never is in problems.
“Someone found her crying in the bathroom.”
“What?!” I said. Unbelievable.
“She hasn’t exactly been making friends. Kindergarten has been hard for her. A few of the girls, have been picking on her. The nurse excused her for the day, so if you would like to come and pick her up, you may.”
I almost couldn’t speak. She never told me she was picked on. I never knew… “Thank you, Ms. Thompson, I’m on my way.”
I numbly drove up to the school and signed her out. She didn’t look at me once.
Was she mad at me? Was it my fault? Why wasn’t my own daughter looking at me? Why was she in pain? Why was she hurt? My baby was suffering. My throat hurt, it was closed up, stuck frozen. I could barely breathe. I gripped the steering wheel harder.
“Mom, I know you’re mad. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” She said, sounding like she was about to cry.
“What?!” how is it she can blame herself?! My baby girl was the victim and – , “Honey, I’m not mad at you.”
“Then who are you mad at?! You only get that stiff and clench your jaw and grip the steering wheel when you’re mad!”
“I – ” I bit my lip, remembering where I probably got that habit, “I’m mad at myself, for being so ignorant.”
“What’s that mean?” she mumbled. She usually had a fairly large vocabulary for her age and she hated having to ask what words meant.
“It means someone doesn’t pay attention.” I said.
We got home and I told her I’d talk to her dad.
I was washing the dishes when there was a knock on the door.
I opened it and almost slammed it in the visitor’s face.