Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Anger flooded her body.
They had started talking about their work, about business as if her life didn’t matter. As if what she wanted didn’t even register. She wasn’t asking for the latest gadget or something selfish. She wanted to help a little boy. Actually, she wanted to adopt all the children in the damn orphanage. When she was eighteen, she had even asked for a gift, the chance to do just that, but he’d refused.
She slammed her hand on the table. “What would Mom say to you right now?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard.
She looked toward her dad and saw the shock in his gaze. She had never questioned him, certainly not in front of business associates.
“Alex, we will discuss this another time.”
“Why not now? You’re treating me like I’m asking for the most impossible thing when all I am asking is to make a difference to children.”
“Exactly, Alex. To children. Not to one kid. You want to help everyone, but not everyone can be helped. I am not going to allow you to throw your life away.”
“But you’re quite happy to throw it away for me?” she asked.
“Enough.”
“No! No more enough. No more telling me to be quiet. I’m twenty-one years old, and I have already married a man I do not love, who cannot stand me. I have done everything you asked of me. I ask for this one thing, and you won’t even consider it.”
“You were eighteen. Raising a child alone is not easy.”
Tears filled her eyes. “And here was me thinking I wouldn’t be alone because I’d have my dad. Thanks a lot.” She shoved her chair back.
“Alex, get back to this table.”
“Screw you.” She had never spoken like this. Never felt like this.
She kicked off her heels and stepped out toward the gardens, not even caring that it had started to rain. The night was still warm, but she was done being cooped up all day.
With her heels gone, and the lights illuminating the garden, she took off, chasing away the anger building inside her.
What more did he want from her? What did she have to give?
She headed toward the back gardens. It had been years since she last came to the gardens, and only a couple of solar lights were working. Her father had built her a tree house. She used to love spending hours out in the yard, watching sunsets, reading books, doing a little hand sewing, and there was once a telescope, which had broken after a storm knocked it out of the tree house.
Alex found the steps and climbed up, not caring that her feet were sore and she’d gotten a few cuts. Hauling herself up into the tree house, she groaned as there were cobwebs in the corner, but it looked the same, only smaller, seeing as she was bigger.
The sound of rain hit the roof, and she left her feet dangling out. She just sat, trying to get as much protection as she could.
Her dad was right. She didn’t know the full consequences of raising a kid, of doing it alone. He’d done it with her, but he always said it was a pleasure.
Time passed, and finally, the rain subsided, but Alex didn’t want to go in and face her father. It was warm enough to stay outside.
“Are you okay up there?”
She looked out to see Roman standing on the ground, alone.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, it looks like I’m asking a girl if I can come and join her in … what is this?”
“It’s a tree house. Didn’t you ever have one as a kid?”
“Nope. None whatsoever. Can I come up?”
There was enough room, so she nudged over, being careful not to disturb any cobwebs. “Come on up,” she said.
He climbed into the tree house. The wood creaked beneath his weight, but as he sat down next to her, it settled.
“Did my dad send you?”
“No, he didn’t send me, but he did send this.” Roman held out some wrapped foil. “He said you’d know what it means.”
Alex took the foil and opened it up, seeing a sandwich. It would be her father’s famous guilty cheese and pickle sandwich. She loved it.
Her father rarely cooked, and he never set foot in the kitchen. Unless Millie was sick, or to cheer her up, he’d make her something.
Picking up the sandwich, she took a bite and smiled.
“Did your dad make this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s … great.”
She laughed. “You should have seen it when he first put it together. It was amazing.” She missed those days. Spending hours playing out in the backyard, when her father had once said she’d be safe, protected, and loved. “What brings you out here?”
“I don’t know, sitting in your room and reading your diary seems wrong with you outside.”
“You shouldn’t be reading my diary. It’s an invasion of privacy.”