Page 9 of Hope and Country

High-pitched screams filled the house. Even though I should be accustomed to them by now, I was not. They still pierced my heart every time they cleaved the silence. I closed the door of the bathroom and heaved out my breakfast, my hands clamping the toilet seat in desperation with chills running through me. I slumped against the wall, my fingers sore, my mind tired, unable to block the cries of pain. Growing up, I thought love was magical. And healed everything. Fairy tales before bed were my favorites. I used to imagine I was the princess, rescued by her knight, falling in love, and living happily forever. In a castle. With bunnies. And a horse named Johnny. The end. Yes, those were what my childhood dreams were made of.

Until reality hit me at age seven.

My birth father left my mom when she was three months pregnant. Never looked back. Never asked to meet me or sent birthday cards. My mother met him in a bar. They dated for a few months, and I was the surprise that came from the relationship. More a shock to him. From what she told me—and it took me years to get any bit of information from her—he was a drunk who used to hit her every time he drank too much. Yes, that kind of a jerk.

I didn’t need him in my life. Better off.

Mom and I were good on our own. I was her little princess; she was my hero. We weren’t rich by any means, but she loved me. With every chunk of her heart.

And it was worth more than anything money could ever buy.

I was happy. We were happy. And life was good.

Then she met Harry. He was a devoted single dad to his only son, Robbie. From baseball practices to teaching him everything he knew about mechanics, Harry’s whole world rotated around his boy.

One day, my mother’s car broke down on the interstate, and a man came to her rescue. Like in a fairy tale, he swept my mom off her feet. Her own hero in a white car.

My mother and Harry fell in love and got married six months later.

Harry was everything my dad had never been. Caring. Funny. Generous. Present.

And he loved my mom. Like crazy.

Robbie became my big brother the moment we first met. He was a few years older than me and had taken the role of the hero in my life.

Until I would be old enough to meet my own knight in shining armor.

Robbie looked out for me. He prepped my favorite breakfast in the morning. He warned off the boys messing with me at school. And the naughty girls too.

My friends all loved him. I loved him.

After the wedding, Harry adopted me, and the four of us became a real family. The one I had always dreamed of.

White picket fence. Backyard with a swing set. Matching PJs on Christmas morning.

We were only missing a dog to be picture perfect.

Yeah, we were that kind of happy.

Maybe I wanted to believe in fairy tales so much that I had been blind to the signs. Or perhaps my childhood innocence was to blame.

I should’ve known better than to believe it could all be true.

My trip down memory lane faded as more screams vibrated through the house, and I was brought back to the present. I put my palms over my ears to muffle the sounds. I hummed to myself so that the only thing I could hear was my own voice.

Every cell in me cried from fear.

Another wave of nausea hit me, and I emptied my stomach in the toilet bowl again. Scorching tears burned my eyes. The lining of my throat felt like a trail of fire.

Loud steps resonated on the other side of the door.

I started shaking.

And I wasn’t even cold.

My body just couldn’t deal with the panic. And helplessness.

I braced myself, closed my eyes, and held my breath.