Falling for the Bear Dad

My car died in front of his driveway. Smoke plumes billowing from the hood. Noises no engine should make. Smells that burned the inside of my nose.

Running from my powerful ex, I didn’t have time to consider how far my old klunker could go. I hadn’t used it in months, not since I moved into that penthouse apartment with him. It sounded so good: a nice home, credit cards to buy anything I wanted or needed, and a man who adored me. I’d been too blind to see the red flags. Too hopeful to wonder what those things would cost me.

We didn’t have much growing up. Mom waited tables and cleaned houses and did anything she could to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. When she died before I turned seventeen, unable to afford the medications the doctor said might save her life, I looked around at our sad apartment with the cracked linoleum floors, windows either painted shut or unable to be closed, and the never-ending reek of mildew. I swore I’d never live like that again.

His gifts came with a price. In exchange for comfort and a love he stopped pretending the week after I moved in, I gave up nearly everything. Then, he told me he planned to share me with someone as part of a business deal. Did not take it well when I said no.

Bruised, battered, one eye swollen nearly closed, I packed a few things in a duffel and slipped out while they were having drinks and discussing, among other things, me. I took the elevator down to the parking level, prayed my car would start, and drove away as quickly as possible.

Until I broke down, blocking his driveway. The owner of the house came into view. Tall. Broad shoulders. Danger on legs. He brought me into the house for a cold drink, listened to my tale of woe, and offered me a job on the spot. Caring for his child whose mother had died a year before, leaving them both brokenhearted. He was not looking for more than childcare and a little light housework.

It all seemed too good to be true. Again.