Husband and I paced our bedroom floor. Worried that Bella had not answered our calls.
We drank tea, then more tea to occupy our minds. Where was she?
Was she safe? Was she alone? Had we forced a crack in her obvious breaking heart? Would she do something stupid?
We did not know.
Dark shadows of night departed when daylight filled our bedroom.
A knock landed on the front door. On jellied legs, I rushed to let the outside in, not knowing what I’d find.
There she stood, our beautiful daughter, shivering with the booze she had left behind.
I made hot drinks, steered her to the sitting room.
A pow-wow the three of us shared. Her behaviour was dissected, the need to change her life was discussed. ‘Start anew, away from the influence of the damaging Mr Big I Am.’
We advised withdrawal of her name on The Big I Am’s house, instructed withdrawal of her funds.
We offered money, alongside hers, to buy a place of her own. A place to live and be independent. For her to be proud of, to make her house a home.
The morning slipped into afternoon, hung over and exhausted, Bella needed her bed.
No such luxury for Husband and me – the daily grind had waited our late start.