In the Eyes of My Beholder

Chapter 1: I Don't Think I'll Miss You That Much

Chapter 1: I Don't Think I'll Miss You That Much 

I watched my mother as she dialed his number for the third time. I scoffed, she couldn’t seriously believe that he would answer her phone call. There was so much that I wanted to say to her, but every time I took a look at her face, my heart ached and I held back from doing so. She was allowing herself to get hurt. He had walked out on us, and all over her heart, and she was willing to go through all of it again.

I gritted my teeth together, and mumbled under my breath, “Let it go, will you? He’s done; he doesn’t care, mom. You’re wasting your time.”

She bit her lip, and pulled the phone from her ear, “It rang this time. Thought maybe I should leave a voicemail.”

I rolled my eyes, flipping the page of the book in my hands, “Stop being desperate. If he wanted to talk to us, he would’ve answered months ago.”

Immediately, regret washed over me, and I hissed an apology, “I’m sorry, I just hate seeing you like this.” I placed the book on the table, and walked over to her. “We said we would move on, and I don’t want him to be holding us back. You’re finally took that job offer in Huntington; maybe this is God giving us a new start,” I hugged her now as I said my next words, “Stop reconsidering and open your eyes mom. Let him go.”

Ask me where I found all the courage to console her, I don’t know. It’s been like this daily since he left five months ago. Putting on a face hasn’t been very easy when there’s so much hurt that you’re trying not to let surface. But I had to do it.

I didn’t cry when he left.

Anger consumed me, and I called day after day telling him how much I hated him. I reminded him how he had disowned his own flesh and blood, but it was all to no avail. He never answered, nor did he call back. I realized that we were the only ones hurting, and after a month of trying, I decided that I would hurt a lot less if I just didn’t care. For me, my father had defined all men, and their morals, and that was that they had none. I refuse to be the girl my mother was. She was too vulnerable and susceptible for her own good. No man will have power over my emotions, and this idea of love is absurdity.

My mom turned to look at me, “Honey, it’s okay to cry. Sometimes it makes you stronger.”

She got up from her chair and turned off the light in the kitchen before she walked over to me, “You should get some sleep. We leave early tomorrow. You pack all your stuff?”

I nodded, and followed her out of the kitchen. We walked through the now empty living room before making it up the stairs. Tomorrow, would be a new day and a new start, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t excited to be leaving this house.

Since my father left, mom’s been struggling a bit handling the bills on her own and all. She’s been applying to other jobs, and last month she finally got an answer, which was the reason why we were moving. It was three hours north of our hometown, Lakeview. She was able to get a house that was on her budget, after selling this one, which was far too big for just the two of us. Starting this week, my mother would be the executive assistant of the founder and chief executive officer of Elleswood Corp. She had done her interview some months ago, but had lost hope in getting the job since it took so long for her to get a reply. Much to her surprise, she got a call a month later telling her she got the job. Tomorrow we’d be moving to Huntington Oaks, which was a small suburban town just outside the city my mom would be working in.