Page 50 of Choosing My Happiness
“About what?”
I took a deep breath. “I think we need to sit down and talk before we work out if I’m staying here or not.”
“What do you mean if you’re staying? Are you thinking of going to Blaze and staying in the house? I’m sorry to say that is probably not a good idea. It’ll take a lot of cleaning to get the dust out, and I’m a bit too busy to help, I’m afraid.”
“Mom, please, I have some things I think you need to understand about Blaze and me.” I interrupted her flustering.
She gave me a side look and walked into the kitchen. I followed her in, then sat down and waited.
“What’s this about?” she asked, sitting herself down.
I shifted in my seat as I thought about how to approach this.
“Mom.” I paused. “You like Blaze, don’t you?” Her answering grin was all the explanation I needed.
“He’s adorable, his eyes are amazing, and he’s such a gentleman,” she gushed anyway. “He reminds me of your father.”
I nodded slowly. “Do you know that I don’t like that he sleeps with other girls?” I asked carefully.
“Oh honey, that’s not important. He just has a bit of fun. Your father used to as well. You—” She paused uncomfortably. “You get used to it.”
“Mom, I don’t want to get used to it,” I said. “I deserve better.”
I watched her face change colors as the emotions swirled around her. I continued, “It’s true, I am in the process of divorcing Blaze. I don’t like the way he treats me, I don’t like how he makes me feel, and to be honest, I don’t like him anymore.”
Mom shook like a leaf on a windy day. Her whole body quivering in outrage.
“He loves you, Daisy. He married you, and made you his ol’lady. You’re the only one who rides on the back of his bike. It’s an honor!”
“What honor is there if he won’t be loyal to me?”
Mom gasped. I continued, “I felt worthless every time I found condoms in his clothes. I felt sick every time he brought home a set of earrings, or a bracelet, or necklace. I didn’t even know I was pregnant because I thought it was normal to feel sick all the time, every day. To throw up in the toilet multiple times a day because I found another lipstick mark, or a condom, or a bit of paper with a random phone number on it.”
“Think about what you’re giving up!” Mom pleaded.
“What am I giving up?”
“Respect! Every time someone sees my kutte, I get respect.” She slapped her hand on the table and then raised it to her quivering lips. “People will respect the kutte that you wear.”
The silence curled around us as I waited for her to realize, but it seemed a lot of people in my life were blind.
“Mom, I don’t have a kutte,” I pointed out. “And the only people who respect a kutte are in the club. I get more respect at work than I’ve ever had from the club. The kutte isn’t needed to get respect.”
She slowly looked at me in horror. I could see her rummaging through her memories for the kutte. I wasn’t going to tell her I burnt my kutte when I figured out that Blaze was doing exactly what Dad did. I hadn’t worn it outside the first time that he’d shoved it on me when he’d officially claimed me. No way was I going to wear a Property of Blaze anything, not when he showed me that he didn’t respect me.
Mom kept staring at me in horror.
“I’m guessing you didn’t notice,” I said to her.
Her eyes welled up.
“He didn’t get you one?” she whined.
I dropped my gaze. I couldn’t let the lie stay floating in the air.
“No, he got me one,” I admitted.
“Why don’t you wear it?” She grabbed my hands.
