Mr Big I Am had a house, a starter home, Bella spent time there. He had bigger plans, and laid a deposit on a detached, a new build. He wanted my daughter to move in with him.
Don’t: my advice. It’s early days after that other upset from your cancelled wedding, all that heartache. With a frown on her brow, she agreed.
The Big I Am doesn’t like to come home to an empty house, he doesn’t like to live alone.
Bella told us a strange thing: his parents were alive, and divorced. The Big I Am had sisters, a whole load of them.
Husband and I showed concern; alarm bells chimed. But, Daughter enjoyed the lifestyle; of The Big I Am, dismissed the tale of dead parents, said it was a misunderstanding. Another lie brushed away into the cobwebs.
The starter house was sold. The Big I Am’s new build was not ready, forcing him to move in with his very much alive Dad.
Husband and I planned to jet off abroad. Before suitcases left the house, Bella asked whether The Big I Am could stay in our home whilst we were away, to afford him a break from his dad. ‘No,’ we chirped, loud and clear. Husband added, ‘We don’t even know the lad.’
We returned from the holiday, late at night tanned and tired. Bella jumped out of bed, ran downstairs to greet us, said how much she had missed us. She was covering her tracks.
The Big I Am left clues of his weeks stay in our home, wanted it to be known that our daughter had betrayed us.