Read Online Recovery by L. B. Simmons - Free Book Online Page A

emotionally he might as well be in China. I exhale a defeated breath.
    Raising my head to look at Blake, a single tear runs down my cheek while I speak.
    “Fine. I have a new house and a new baby and a new husband who just does things on a whim, without even discussing them with me. Sure, I guess I can take care of a new puppy, too. Why not, right? Did you even bother to think, for one minute, about how much time I don’t have for house-training and feeding him four times a day and whatever else it may require?”
    Anger overtakes Blake’s face as I watch it turn a lovely shade of purple. His boots pound the floor, anger driving him forward until he’s standing right in front of me.
    “Bullshit, Alex. I did think about it, and that’s exactly why I got it. Your girls, as you insist on calling them, need to learn to be accountable for their actions and should have some type of responsibility. They need to have chores. They should be learning how to do things. Not only picking up their rooms, but around the house too. It’s good for them. They need that.” I roll my eyes, releasing more tears.
    They do things…kind of.
    Blake continues his rant, his expression still saturated with outrage. “So no, it doesn’t fall on you. It falls on them, as the responsibility that I give them since you refuse to give them any at all.”
    “Bla—”
    “Kyndall is eight years old and you still fucking tie her shoes, Alex!” I wince and take a rather large step away from him. He never swears like that at me. Ever.
    “You coddle them. You’re exhausting yourself and it’s completely unnecessary. If you would teach them to clean up their own messes, instead of doing it yourself, something you seem to be dead set on these days, I guarantee you’ll find yourself a lot less worn out.” Rivers are now running down my face, but I hold his stare. Unable to speak, I watch as he turns to leave, but not before he delivers one last heartbreaking revelation.
    “You’re so worried about what I’m teaching them?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Maybe you should spend more time worrying about what you’re not teaching them.”
    Marching out of the living room towards the front door; his words hit me almost as hard as the door he slams on his way out.
    With the house now empty, I’m left alone to cry alone...
    In my brand new guest bathroom.
     

 

     

     
    Over the next week, Blake and I say very little to each other. Even our doctor’s appointment, a moment which is supposed to be filled with excitement and joy, is tainted with evident anger and hostility. The only time we speak is when we’re around the girls.
    Since it’s Saturday and the girls have left me for Tatum once again, I begin my weekend cleaning ritual. Walking through the kitchen, I see the full stainless steel food and water bowls that the girls stocked for the puppy earlier this morning. I smile at the hand-written feeding schedule on the dry erase board mounted above his eating area. With alternating initials for every day of the week, each girl is responsible for feeding him and giving him water according to what’s on the schedule. Of course, Nycole organized and structured the whole feeding program. It seems to be working out rather well.

     
    Opening the door to the laundry room, I flip the light switch only to be reminded that the light is still burned out. Letting out an aggravated growl, I head back to the kitchen to get a light bulb out of the pantry and a chair from the breakfast table.
    Sliding a new bulb in my new, handy dandy storage space…right between my breasts…I smile with self-satisfaction and lug the chair into the laundry room. Setting it down, I climb my very pregnant self onto the seat. Once I’m standing, I grab the bulb and stretch to reach the fixture. The chair wobbles a bit and I place my hand on its back to steady myself.
    Scooting the seat a bit, I test the chair which seems to be stable now. In my second attempt, I reach