The proposal of marriage amounted to nothing. Bella was not given a ring to sparkle and shine.
Several proposals flew Bella’s way, from the mouth of The Big I Am.
With each invitation to live happy ever after, to be together ’till death did them part, came a condition–Bella was to lose weight, be slimmer than she was.
Bella’s skin wrapped her bones, like cling film, there was no fat to be found. What weight could she lose?
Mind games, and there were a few.
We escalated to dangerous times.
Bella’s birthday: she went to her house; the one shared by three. Her key no longer opened the door. She went to the back garden, climbed over the unopened gate. She smashed the kitchen window to gain entry. New Girl was in camp with Mr Big I Am. A row got out of hand.
Bella came home to us a buzzing, told Husband and me, what she had done.
We flipped. What was she playing at, wasting her life on his?
She did not want to listen; her ears locked against good sense.
With tempers on fire, Husband and I spat, ‘Stop bringing this shit to our door.’
Bella zoomed off in her car, and did not return that night.
Husband tossed and turned in bed, picked up his mobile phone, and left message after unanswered message.
For his Darling Girl to come home.