r/nosleep
Never Stop At Roadside Memorials by reddit user BunnyB03 a.k.a Sinister Sweetheart Stories
⚠️ trigger warning: child abuse ⚠️
You know how those people who you tell time of events to 15 minutes early because you know they would be late? The ones who would be late to their own funerals as the saying goes, well that's me. Prepare as I might I can never seem to get anywhere on time. It's the most frustrating trait ever but yet it's absolutely always my fault.
Before I had my daughter Brynn, almost 9 months old, I was one of those people who took punctuality very seriously. I was the kinda guy who looked at the traffic flow on his phone and made sure I got gas the day before. I even set my oven clock 5 minutes fast so there would always be a 5 minute advantage. I was prepared for most obstacles.
However, what I couldn't prepare for was the unpredictability of Brynn. Her needs and moods varied like all babies do. There was no rhyme or reason to her play. She did what she wanted when she wanted no matter if it made sense or not.
It's like she was saying, "No Dad. I will lay here and eat my foot for exactly 1 minute and 27 seconds. If you attempt to remove it before this time passes you will be met with total noncooperation." Not to mention the crying and flailing of the limbs.
We had a good enough routine before her mother left us about three months ago. Since then we have just tried to make the best of our situation and establish new routines, for Brynn and myself.
These are the thoughts going through my head as I rush to Brynn's 9 month doctor check up. We are early, set and out the door. Then she pokes the nipple through her bottle and pours it all over herself. So we go back in the house, clean her up and repeat the process. It's 9:19 and her appointment's at 9:30. It will easily take 20 minutes to get there. I'm not going to super speed or lane weave just to be on time. We will just have to be a little late....... again... as usual.
We're almost there; only about five miles left. I start to allow myself to relax my shoulders a little when Brynn starts wailing. Oh Christ not again. Not now I think to myself, figuring she poked her bottle open again. You can't take a dirty baby to the doctor ever but mostly not for a check up. It just doesn't look right; it isn't right.
The pitch and repetition of her screaming is making my head feel like a kettle that's about to boil. Before it reached it's crescendo of shrill whistling, I pull over. If I knew then what I know now I would have never stopped or would have pulled into the nearest gas station. Anything other than where I choose to stop at.
I pull over and get out of the car and open the door of the back seat. There she is, snotty and red faced. Her blonde curls sticking to her face with the sweat of frustration. My little sweetheart, she looks just like her mother when she cries. It makes me sad; but I can't think about that now. She knew what she was doing when she left us. No sense in keeping her ghost around especially in my own head.
We pulled over next to a little roadside memorial. A slightly worn but still pretty silver and pink cross is placed there with flowers withered by the hands of time and various other trinkets of memorial. The name on the cross reads Emily Semple. It looks to be a child's; that makes me sadder to think about then when I think about my wife. It's something at least I though. A temporary mental vacation into someone else's hell to be able to escape my own.
I look her over and thankfully she hasn't spilled her bottle. Maybe we still have a chance of being somewhat on time. I hand her the bottle back, wipe her face and kiss her forehead. Thinking if I show her love it will help calm her down. As if she knew could read my mind she threw her bottle and it bounces off of my forehead and onto the floor. Great.
