Wine- Stained LOVE

Wine- Stained LOVE

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jun 16, 2025
To my daughter, Love never made sense to me. It always felt like a test I couldn't pass no matter how many times I studied the patterns or circled the right answers. I saw women in my family bend themselves in the name of love and never get put back together right. I told myself I'd be different. And then I met him. Zion Westbrook. Twenty-three. A little younger than me, but loud, golden, and full of energy. Flashy smile. Flashier lifestyle. Everybody knew his name, but I saw something in him that nobody else was looking for. Not fame. Not money. Something buried and bruised. Something real. You'll understand when you're older that some of the most important chapters in your life won't feel like fairy tales in the beginning. This isn't a love story right away. This started off quiet. Guarded. Complicated. But the moment I saw him, I felt something shift. So let me tell you how it started. How we broke each other open. How we learned each other's languages. How we lost and found ourselves before we ever said, "I love you." This is how I met your father.
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DIABOLIC SERIES 3 All my life I've lost my breath. It would happen over the simplest things, if I stretched too high to catch a ball, lifted something for too long, if I sneezed, if I talked. Other times I would loose my breath because I had a panic attack, or was yelling or being yelled at, if I was exerting myself on a physical level. Having the wind knocked out of me is a familiar feeling. But I didn't truly know what it felt like to loose the air in my lungs, loose the feeling that has kept my alive my entire life. I didn't loose it when I fell in love, I didn't loose it when I found out one drunken night with the girl I love would mean a baby, I didn't loose it when I found out that I'd actually be a father. No, I lost that when she told me that she doesn't love me. When she spit in my face how much she can't stand me, how I've ruined her life, that she doesn't want me in any aspect. I'm not her 'type' whatever that means, seeing as she quite willingly had sex with me. Her saying this made this ugly, lonely and depressing thought hit my diaphragm. Violet Thompson is carrying my child. And she despises me for it. The way I came to this conclusion was simple, Nonnie- -that's what I call her, since her middle name's Noel and I wanted something to call her that if I shouted it in the middle of a crowd, only she would turn to and know it's me- -told me that all she wants is someone there. A father for her baby, a physical presence. Not a mind, personality. Not a person. A body. A shell. I've been a dead man walking. And I was that shell, was just a body... until I found him.

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