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Bella
If you’d asked me how I pictured my future, this would not be it. I’ve come so far, but I was still … so …
I don’t know.
I had dreams. I had wishes. I had a future. I was happy. Then, my life imploded.
“Bella, this isn’t working,” Jake said to me coldly. He stared at me and glowered at the little boy, our three-year-old Seth, who was my world. He was born when I was eighteen and nowhere ready to be a mother. “You need to leave and take that with you.”
“Our son is not a ‘that’,” I snapped. “Jake, I don’t have anywhere to go. Give me a few months to get back on my feet, separate from you and then we’ll go.”
“No,” he sneered. “This hasn’t been working for year. It’s time to cut our losses and you need to be out by the end of the day.”
“I have to work, Jacob,” I said. “Can you be any more of an asshole?”
“I’m giving you a day,” he smirked. “I could have just thrown out your shit yesterday while you were working and while I was taking care of that boy.”
“That boy is your son,” I hissed.
“Is he, though?’ Jacob asked. “He looks a lot like Mike Newton. You’re such a slut, Bella.”
“I can’t believe this,” I whispered. “I can’t believe I ever loved you.”
Jacob knew I’d only ever been with him. Seth, our son, was conceived the first time we’d had sex and the condom had broken. Seth was the light of my life, where Jacob was the looming dark shadow.
“You better be gone by the time I come back from work. If you’re not, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. You’d lose custody of Seth and he’d be raised by a proper family,” Jacob muttered. “Not by slut like you.” He picked up his keys, leaving the dingy apartment we’d shared.
It wasn’t even an apartment. It was a shack on his father’s property. It had a small kitchenette, a small living space and two tiny bedrooms. It barely had indoor plumbing. There was shower stall and a composting toilet. It was my responsibility to clean it every week.
Well, we didn’t share it anymore.
I was just a piece of shit in Jacob’s eyes. I was not the ‘love of his life’ as he proclaimed that night we’d conceived Seth. I was not the mother of his son.
I was a burden.
Not anymore … I wasn’t his doormat.
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