Road To Recovery (A "Living With The Choices We Make" Sequel) ✔️

21 - More Trouble

21 – More Trouble

Rena's POV

When I got home, my father only had to take one look at me to know that we had lost. The whole time we were driving back from the courthouse, the tears were streaming down my cheeks with the result that my eyes stung and my nose was stuffed up.

Noah was sitting in the living room, struggling with his shape sorter by trying to force a triangle block into a circle hole. A smile lit up his face when he saw me and he stretched out his little arm holding the block. "Mama."

His eyes were expectant and I battled the tears down with fierce. Yet, by the time I lowered myself next to him on the floor, my vision was blurred and I wiped my eyes with my sweater. He shouldn't have to see his mother's crying – especially since this was entirely my screw up.

"That's a triangle, baby." My voice trembled when my finger pointed at the triangle hole. "Try that one."

He gazed at me with his big blue eyes that were just like my own and the worry reflected in them cut painfully into my heart. I failed him – in all respects. When I put my own selfish needs above his by going to the party and leaving him with Alyssa, I endangered his wellbeing and now, I couldn't even protect him from Ryan anymore. In hindsight, my actions were totally reckless. What was wrong with me that I couldn't see this before?

My head snapped up when the kitchen door closed behind my dad and Kade. For a moment, I considered joining them, but the time with my son was precious and I was determined to spend any last second with him. Who knew when I would be allowed to see him again? The visits would be supervised, probably by that bitch Angela Davenport, and the mere thought that everything I did from here on forward would be scrutinized to its fullest sent bile up my throat.

Noah and I played mostly in silence. His tongue was firmly tucked between his teeth while he tried to find the right holes for his shapes through trial and error. After some probing and turning the shapes into the right position, he managed the task on most occasions and the blocks disappeared into the holes one by one, accompanied by clapping and giggles. He was smart – and I was one proud mom.

When he got tired, he climbed up on my lap and snuggled against me. A big yawn split his mouth apart before his thumb moved in between his lips. Lately, he preferred his fingers over his pacifier. Doc had said that this was a sign of stress, an unconscious signal that he was struggling with the custody arrangements, and cautioned that I should watch that. For today, my son would get away with it – those last few hours I had with him, I would not risk a tantrum. Let Charlotte deal with it.

His eyelids grew heavy and I hummed his favorite lullaby as I cradled him into my arms, my lips brushing over his blonde curls. My body rocked gently back and forth until his breath became even, only interrupted by an occasional smack when he suckled his thumb.

I scooted over to the couch to give my back some much needed support, careful not to wake him. The tears flowed again as soon as I rested my cheek against the leather cushion, my eyes fixed on the painting on the wall. It was a portrait of my mother when she was still in college.

After her death, I had stared at it for hours, hoping I could send her a message up to heaven. For the first few years, I had missed her so much, but those memories had faded and when I was old enough to understand what she had killed a whole family in her drunken head, I had started to hate her. Her addiction to alcohol had been stronger than her motherly instincts which sucked big time.

Now, I wasn't any better than her – my recklessness pretty much erased my chances to see my son growing up. A probation violation was just a matter of weeks – with the testimony of the private investigator, Marcus had enough to get Mr. Rose involved and if they would only find one person who had been at the party and who would confirm that I had been drinking, I was screwed.