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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Last Updated:
2025-12-23 14:01:11
Latest chapter
HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE CHAPTER NINETEEN
The steam from the stovetop rises in thick, humid clouds, blurring the edges of the kitchen. I move mechanically, my hands shaking just enough to make the clatter of the wooden spoon against the pot sound like a frantic heartbeat. I’ve already bathed the twins; they are finally a tangle of limbs and soft breathing in their cribs. Now, it is just me, my mother, and the heavy, unspoken tension vibrating between us.I don’t beat around the bush. . I set a plate of steaming food down in front of her and lean against the counter, crossing my arms.“Mum, what happened today?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. “And no, don’t give me a filtered version of what happened. I want the full, unfiltered truth. Every second of it.”Mum looks down at her plate, her fingers hovering over the fork. She looks smaller tonight, more fragile, as if the air in the room is pressing down on her shoulders. She takes a shallow breath and finally meets my eyes.“Okay,” she begins softly. “As I was playing wi
HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After Tabitha leaves the library, I feel empty already. She is off to a date with her favorite godson, the mysterious Cole and I find myself battling a strange pang of jealousy. It isn’t a romantic jealousy, but rather a covetousness of her spirit. You can tell by the way her voice elevates, how her speech sounds more excited whenever she talks about him. He occupies a space in her heart that I am jealous of , sue meI lean back in my chair, staring at the empty chair she leaves behind evrrytime she comes over. Maybe I should invite her over for one of our "book talk" moments. It is being hosted every Sunday after the ladies come back from church.The thought barely forms before I recoil from it. Church. Nope. I don’t do God. I gave up on anything remotely resembling religion a long time ago, buried it in the same shallow grave where I left my optimism. If He was alive, if He was the benevolent architect they all claim Him to be, then why didn't He save my mom when she was dying the
HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I continue to stare blankly at Tabitha, my mind a spiraling thought flow, The air in the library feels different now thicker, charged with a current I haven’t felt in years. I am utterly lost for words, my tongue feeling like a heavy, useless weight in my mouth. The transition from being a librarian to being a potential option in a a position working for Tabitha is so abrupt it feels like a whiplash, even though I don't know what position she has for me yet“I know this must sound shocking,” she says, her voice dropping into a solemn tone that pulls me back from the brink of my panic. She reaches out, her hand resting lightly on the polished wood of the checkout counter. “That is why I didn't know how to say it earlier. It’s why I was acting the way I was when I walked in. I was bracing myself for your reaction, Annabella. I was nervous, believe it or not.”Hearing the word nervous come from a woman like Tabitha is almost as shocking as the job offer itself, to think that I could ma
HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Knowing Tabitha has so far been the best moments in my life. It isn’t just about the coffee she brings or the easy laughter we share between the quiet stacks of the library; she has helped my mindset travel a long way from the dark, stagnant place where I first started. For the first time in years, I don’t wake up feeling like a ghost haunting my own life. I feel like a person again, someone with a voice.The most jarring yet exhilarating part of our friendship is the way she treats my brain. Especially in those moments where she asks for my input about her business decisions, it reminds me of my past. It’s a bittersweet ache; it reminds me of the high-stakes world I used to inhabit, but in a good way. It proves to me that the knowledge is still there, her trust has helped me build my self-confidence a long way, and that is no joke. When you’ve spent a long time believing your worth is zero, having someone treat your opinion like gold is a powerful strengthTake last week, for examp
HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Mom! I’m off to work!”I shout the words over my shoulder, my voice competing with the sudden, sharp burst of Junior’s crying that has just erupted from the nursery. I don’t wait for a response, knowing she’s already moving toward him, I’m rushing out of the house, my movements frantic as I juggle my bag, my keys, and a small, chilled box of milk.The milk, well, It’s for me. As much as I crave a double-shot espresso to jumpstart my sluggish nervous system, I’ve had to cut back significantly on the caffeine. I’m still pumping breast milk for the kids, and even though my supply isn't nearly enough to satisfy two growing appetites, I am stubborn about continuing. I’ve set a goal to keep this up until they are at least a year old. In a life where I’m gone for eight to ten hours a day, pumping feels like my only connection with my babies. It’s my way of providing, of being physically present even when I’m miles away, It’s an exhausting bridge between my role as a provider and my identity
HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Chapter 14: The high-pitched wails of Ella's voice pierce through the heavy fog of my exhaustion . They are my new alarm clocks, loud and signaling the start of another day long before the sun has even thought of rising. It is a sound that triggers a physical response in me now, a tightening in my chest, or is it an ache in my arms, and a heavy, mothers or people who have truly loved can relate to thisAt six months old, Ella and Junior have taught me a hard lesson: life as a single mother isn't as rosy, no matter how much your heart overflows with love for them. The glossy magazines' social media feeds talk about the "glow" of motherhood, but they conveniently leave out the crusty milk stains on every shirt, the dark circles that have become a permanent part of my eyes, and the bone-deep fatigue that makes it hard to stay awake while at work. The reality is a grueling pattern of constant hustling from how I juggle the library shifts, the feedings, and the mountain of laundry, and ev
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