Page 6 of Broken Blood Ties

I begged her, pleaded with her to reconsider because in that moment a neon sign flashed in my head.Your child. Your legacy.

She ran out the door, leaving me in a puddle of brokenness on the floor. I’m not sure why I was so emotional. Maybe it was because my good friend and leader of the Bratva just had his second child, and at thirty-four I felt I was falling behind. Or maybe it was because those five joy-filled weeks had just blown up in my face, making me feel like I was a pit stop for Laura on her way to something better.

Either way, I lay there until she came back several hours later telling me she couldn’t go through with it. She didn’t want her parents to find out, so I paid for all her appointments out of pocket. Once my daughter was born, Laura wanted nothing to do with her or me. Two days later, she terminated her parental rights and asked for zero contact.

I had no clue what I was doing, but I knew this little life needed me. Holding her for the first time in the hospital, it was like everything else faded away. Nothing else mattered. She was pure innocence in my harsh world, and I knew I’d never be the same.

I named her Aoife after my late grandmother.

Sighing, I bend down to kiss my little love on her cheek. She smells like peaches and summertime, her favorite season. I grin before the heaviness of my tea settles over my eyelids.

I move back toward the door.

“Daddy?”

I breathe out a sigh before I turn around to see her sitting up in bed. Mr. Cuddles, an unstuffed bear, is nestled into the crook of her arm. Her eyes are so round, they almost always look surprised. She blinks several times before saying again, “Daddy?”

“Hey, little love. I’m sorry I woke ye. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s Mr. Cuddles’s birthday tomorrow, Daddy. Can we make him a cake?” It’s my turn to double blink. Leave it to Aoife to be concerned about her toy bear’s birthday in the middle of the night.

“I’m sure ye can. Ask Allie in the mornin’, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight. I love ye.”

“I love you, too, Daddy,” Aoife says, as she slinks back down into her feathered bed.

When I’ve shut the door and tiptoed back down the hallway to my room, I shower and brush my teeth, feeling each second I’m not in bed before my 5:00 a.m. alarm. I swipe the steam from the mirror, noticing the gash above my eyebrow I didn’t realize was there. The typical vibrant color of my eyes is now an exhausted, dull earthy green. I’m barely able to keep them open, so I pad over to my bed and tumble in.

Thoughts of Aoife swim around my tired mind, and I recall I was supposed to do something in my office, but I can’t seem to place it. In pure opposition to being awake one second longer, I roll over, burying my head beneath the pillows. I play my movements from tonight over and over, as is my nightly ritual.One, one, two, five, two, three …

Chapter2

Summer

“Miss Summer, where do penguins live?”

I smile at Tommy as he sprawls out on the circle time carpet. “Antarctica,” I reply, staring past the rainbow alphabet plastered to the top wall to glance at the clock. Four minutes until recess.

I couldn’t be any more grateful for the warmer March day. While the rest of the country prepares for the beginning of spring, the entire northeast is prepared to endure another month of cold, sloshy winter. But not today. Today it’s a whopping fifty degrees, and the snow has melted off the playground enough that we’re able to get these kiddos outside. And I’m ready.

I wasn’t one of those women who grew up planning to teach. One of the brave few who trekked to work each day ready to mold and shape young minds into the future of humanity. To be honest, it all sounded like too much pressure. I’d always been thewhat’s in it for metype. Shameful.

During my first few years in Boston, I did whatever job I could get my hands on. Cleaned office building bathrooms, waited tables—which I was terrible at—and eventually got a job at a private school as an assistant to the office manager.

Ardenbrook Academy is one of the most prestigious private K–12 schools in Boston. I spent two years making photocopies and filing school excuses. That was until last year the preschool teacher had an affair with the PE teacher and all hell broke loose.

The school was hard-pressed to keep the debacle out of the local news spotlight, and they didn’t want to make a big show of hiring from the outside.

So naturally, or more like unnaturally, they appointed me the new preschool teacher at the start of the school year.

I find it funny most of these families pay an excessive amount to make sure their children have the best private school education the city offers, and the Academy effectively put a no-name into the position. Granted, I’m not a stranger to the private education scene, my own parents made sure of that. And since one doesn’t need a college degree to teach at a private preschool, this twenty-four-year-old is staring at snotty-nosed four and five-year-olds in uniforms who know more about the social pressures of the elite than they should. I’m literally counting down the minutes until the day is over.

“A few reminders before recess: no running as it is still wet outside, and we’ll be going straight to pickup from the playground, so bring your backpacks with you. Tommy and Aoife please see me before we head outside.”

The kids dart from their assigned animals on the circle rug to their cubbies and pack their bags while Tommy, a short brown-haired boy with glasses, and Aoife, a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who’s destined to break hearts, approach me.

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