The Tapestry of A. Taylor: The Tapestry Series, #1

By K.C. Mitchell

This intimate and moving novel is about broken dreams, friendships that go beyond, and growing up when life is fraught with hardship and fear.

 

The last thing Abriella Taylor expects when she flees from her abusive husband is to fall deeper into despair. Her new location, vastly different geographically, collides with the affluent neighborhood with which she'd grown accustomed. With unforgettable characters, especially Annie Maew, a larger-than-life woman who prods Brie to redefine herself, this magnificent novel enchants every reader and captures their heart.

 

A crushing, beautiful story about a woman who must confront the fears of her past and present to find the courage to create a life anew. Gripping, heartbreaking, and impossible to put down, Brie's unforgettable journey to maturity will stay with readers long after turning the last page. With richly detailed settings, this epic and emotional novel will bring you back to an old-fashioned childhood where friends become family and burdens become lighter when shared.

 

Filled with humorous antidotes and heart-wrentching insights, this book will take you into a world that sheds light upon real-life discrepancies between right and wrong, prejudice and acceptance, and fulfillment and longing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.C. MItchell
• Release date: Nov 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9798201980382

K.C. Mitchell

Mitchell writes in multigenres including romance, literary fiction, historical fiction, chic lit, and contemporary fiction.      She completed her B.A. in English Language and Literature at Columbus State University. She currently resides in Columbus, Georgia. Contact K. C. Mitchell at [e-mail].

Book preview

The Tapestry of A. Taylor

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An Inspiring Emotional Novel

Book One in The Tapestry Series

The Tapestry of A. Taylor

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An Inspiring Emotional Novel

Book One in The Tapestry Series

K.C. Mitchell

Copyright © 2013, 2024 K.C. Mitchell

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law or in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author is purely coincidental.

Notes to Readers: This edition is the rebranded, revised edition of the original book.

Please be aware, this story contains themes of spousal abuse, rape, and their aftermath, including PTSD symptoms that could trigger certain audiences.

This book contains sexual content and is recommended only for mature readers eighteen and older.

For my mother, Elsie Carlisle,

without whose unwavering support

I might never have written my stories.

Also By

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More Novels By K. C. Mitchell

The Tapestry Series:

The Tapestry of A. Taylor: An Inspiring Emotional Novel,

Book One

The Weaving of a Warrior, Book Two

The Fate of a Family, Book Three

Other Books by K.C. Mitchell

till the Tide: A Novel of Awakening

Beneath a Tainted Sky: A Passionate Historical Affair

Coming Soon…

More Titles in The Tapestry Series:

The Woes of a Woman, Book Four

The Painting of a Portrait, Book Five

The Legacy of a Lady, Book Six

Contents

Preface

1.The Nightmare

2.Regroup

3.New Visions

4.Old Ghosts

5.Roadblock

6.Easy Answers

7.The Night that Changed Everything

8.Extraordinary Beginnings

9.Real Life Fantasy

10.Done & Done

11.The Calm Before the Storm

12.Unexpected Information

13.Enlightenment

14.Tangled Web

15.Course Changes

16.Final Preparations

17.Extreme Panic

18.Repercussions

19.Shifting Sand

20.Conclusion of a Life

21.Dismal Reality

22.The Awakening

23.The Mirror’s Reflection Does Not Lie

24.The Unraveling of a Plan

25.The Beginning of The End

26.New Beginnings

Sneak Peak

From the Author

About the Author

Also By

Preface

Life is But a Weaving (The Tapestry Poem)

Attributed to Corrie Ten Boom

My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me.

I cannot choose the colors He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow; And I in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper And I the underside.

Not ’til the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares; Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those Who leave the choice to Him.

Chapter one

The Nightmare

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The thump of my heels on the worn wooden planks resounded in my ears as if I suffered from a terrible hangover. I was still numb from the trauma. Sore from last night’s attack, my legs ached from the exertion of defense. The carpet burns on my back chafed against my blouse. My arms were heavier than normal. My long sleeves hid the bruises.

Nevertheless, as sore as my body felt, it was my mind that I had to work at tuning out. The memories, the unfathomable terror, rose to choke the last life from me as I walked amongst these strangers.

My life had taken a sudden, unexpected turn. Now every move screamed with exaggerated importance. Every noise was magnified; every person around me moving in slow motion. The nightmare I had feared would one day come true was now my new reality.

Now, well, now the thump of my heels on the worn wooden planks penetrating my ears as if it were the only noise in the world. The vibration of the hard floor moved up my body with each step. My legs screamed from the sensitivity of motion, as if I had just finished a great day of skiing in Tahoe.

But there would be no more skiing trips. My daughter would not learn to ski in Tahoe. The private schools, piano lessons, and debutante parties she would experience only through the movies now. I tried to focus on the task at hand- to survive.

When I entered the store, I mustered up my courage and lifted my head. The old country store reminded me of the one I frequented as a child. My great aunt had continued to run it when her husband died, but she was not able to keep it up.

By the time I grew old enough to remember it, years of neglect gave it a rundown appearance. Outside, the faded and chipping cream paint peeled off, revealing a pale yellow beneath from its original color.

The front porch step’s splinters protruded, and loose planks threatened a lawsuit; however, those were simpler times. A stumble meant a good laugh, not a call to a lawyer. Three rocking chairs decorated the porch on the front of the store, inviting visitors and customers alike to sit awhile and catch up on the gossip.

The sweet fragrance of smoked meat tantalized the nostrils of all who passed by and beckoned patrons to eat a bite at the small sideboard café. More rocking chairs surrounded the huge wood-burning, pot-bellied stove toward the back of the store.

The area served as the unofficial gentlemen’s library all hours of the day. It came complete with cheap cigars and antidotes for various ailments. It was one of my few good childhood memories before my father left. Oh, for those carefree days.

The loud laughter wailing from the rear brought me back to reality. I sensed this country store must be identical to the one from my childhood memories, except the occupants here were black and I was white.

As I continued deep into the establishment, skeptical eyes took in my presence. The courtesy they offered as I walked by resembled the parting of the waves as Moses lifted his staff.

Wishing the waves would crash down and sweep me into the ocean so that no one would ever find me again, I almost retreated.

Then I thought of my daughter clutching my hand, my beautiful seven-year-old daughter. I must survive to help her survive.

The laughter came to an abrupt halt as I rounded the corner display of washing powders. Seven wrinkled black men congregated to enjoy the day’s gossip and contemplate the world’s daily news. Two were backed up to the pot-bellied stove while three rocked in chairs as if with imaginary grandchildren in their laps. Two more were propped against sacks of feed.

The thick white whiskers on each of their faces gave an air of distinction on some and an edge of roughness on others. They surrounded the stove as if there was a chill lingering in the air, but of course, the chill had lifted over a month ago. Some wore overalls and a few wore jeans and plaid shirts, but almost all donned sweaters or a jacket of some sort.

The man with the newspaper lowered it to peer over as I walked up to their area. Although curious, his eyes gleamed with a wisdom that I didn’t understand. In unison, they stopped their laughter and talk when they saw my daughter and me.

The tallest of them appeared as if he’d seen a ghost when he saw us. His mouth fell open. The petite little man with the full beard nudged him, bringing him back to his senses.

After only a second, I stepped toward them. Their wariness increased my anxiety. Was I stuck in some terrible dream? The pungent whiff of their cigars mixed with their sweet aftershave made my stomach lurch. Yet I mustered up the courage to speak.

Hi. I’m here about the job for shampoo girl. My voice cracked a bit from nervousness, so my statement came out sounding more like a question. I had not applied for a job since I dropped out of beauty school.

Now, five years later, I wished I had finished since I was in desperate need of re-marketing myself, this time under more despairing conditions. The old black gentlemen glanced at each other. The man holding the newspaper tilted his head. He cut his eyes toward a doublewide doorway at the back wall.

I looked in the direction he motioned. There I caught sight of the makeshift beauty parlor about the same time as cackling laughter coming from the same direction. Turning, I headed in that way. Neither the men nor I said another word. I ignored the inquisitive stares of the men as I walked toward my future.

The eldest gentleman we’d left appeared to wait until we stepped away to speculate aloud about our purpose here. They’d wonder why a young white woman would want to wash black women’s hair at the corner beauty shop in the city’s ghetto. He would want to be the first to offer an explanation about what we were there for as soon as we were out of earshot. Yes, this store and its occupants were almost indistinguishable from my aunt’s store of my childhood.

Before entering the salon, I stopped and took a deep breath, just realizing I’d barely been breathing since I’d entered the store. This job was my only ticket to freedom, my only escape. When I stepped inside the beauty shop, my little girl squeezed my hand, her fear evident as we proceeded. My self-loathing almost choked me as I empathized with her dilemma. Why had I put her in this situation? My fear mirrored hers as I walked through the double-wide open doorway. If the old gentlemen intimidated me, the loud talking from the beauty parlor was downright daunting.

Chille, I walked down that street and walked right up to her. I told her. Chille, who you think she gone pick ta be her bridesmaid if you keep actin’ like that?’ You shoulda seen the look on her face. The laughter seemed a surreal twist to my predicament as I stepped into the room.

My little girl peeked up and, without saying a word, let me know she had never been so scared in her life. I pushed myself to move, both for my sake and as an example for my daughter. With as much confidence as I was able to muster, I walked into the room and addressed the women.

Excuse me. My name is Abriella Taylor. I’m here about the job you have posted in the front window. The hush that fell over the ladies reflected the shock on each one’s face as if an earthquake had suddenly rocked the room.

My reflection in one of the mirrors that lined both sides of the small shop caught my eye. I couldn’t help but feel like a stranger in a foreign land. My mousy brown hair and pale skin contrasted with the dark skin around me. I had always been short and rather thin. Most of these women appeared much bigger than most women I’d ever met.

Seeing my reflection side by side with the oversized woman before me intimidated me more than looking straight at her face. I waited for a response as I searched the women’s faces, trying to decide who was in charge.

The position for shampoo girl… there’s a sign in the front window. Is it still available? Sudden silence filled the air. Glancing at the women’s faces, I continued. I really need a job. Today… can you help me?

Three of the ladies cut their eyes over to the woman in front of me, yet no one said a word. I walked forward toward the massive lady. She had been applying a permanent relaxer to her patron before I walked in, but now stood motionless with her mouth open.

The bulky woman wore a dress that appeared a few sizes too big for her. Black with a hot-pink floral print, it did not follow a particular pattern. An odd pseudo camouflage to hide the enormous person beneath it. When I got closer to her, I leaned towards the lady a little and lowered my voice.

I’m here for the job, please. I know I’m not what you expected, but you don’t understand. I’m desperate. I need your help. Please.

Chille, I don’t know wut you want me ta say, but there ain’t no way you’d fit in ’round here. You need ta go back ta the north side of tha city where’s you belong. She eyed me up and down as she spat her judgment. Although I agreed with her, I realized I must convince her otherwise.

What’s your name? I whispered.

Annie Mae.

Annie Mae, I lack only a few hours graduating from beauty school. I am more than qualified to do the job. I need to provide for my little girl and myself. You’re wanting a shampoo girl. I have to get a job. What is the problem?

Too straightforward, it had come out sterner than I would have liked if I’d rehearsed, but desperation threatened to choke me more than I wanted to admit.

Annie Mae studied me once again, surmising I came from wealth, not just the local neighborhood money, either. The Louis Vuitton purse and Manolo Blahnik shoes were a dead giveaway. The lack of jewelry only made it more obvious I attempted to hide my affluence.

I’d piqued her curiosity. She wanted to know my story. She also figured out the only way she would ever find out was to hire me. Besides, she wasn’t in any condition to be bending over the shampoo bowl herself.

The way she examined me told me she was a woman to be reckoned with, in charge, and an excellent judge of character.

Well, I hoped she understood I was as sincere as I was desperate. We locked eyes and connected. The silent moment stood between us; the eyes of every woman watching to see who would speak first. She breathed a heavy sigh, looked me up and down again, and then shook her head.

I only pays five dollars a hour plus any tips you can muster. I don’t s’ppose that’d be enough to keep up yo habit of buyin’ all dose fancy clothes.

That will be fine. I just need a job. When can I start? Annie Mae glanced around the room and caught the utter surprise of the three ladies’ countenances staring back at her. Her exuberant cackle made us all jump, even those ladies familiar with Annie Mae’s spontaneous laugh at anything humorous.

I jumped more than those in the room did. Either because I stood in proximity, leaning in closer to Annie Mae or because it was my first experience of her genuine, to-the-bone laugh. Would I come to appreciate it?

My daughter jumped toward me so hard that she almost knocked me over. Any outsider listening would have scratched their head wondering what had brought me to this place to work. But peace overcame me that I would somehow become part of this family of friends. Maybe I was just hopeless enough to see something that wasn’t there. We needed security and help, and these strangers were our only option.

Come what may, I would make it work. It would take time, but that was the only asset on my side. I had made many mistakes, but I would wipe the slate clean and begin again. This would be my new home, my new family, and my new life.

I reckon you can start whenever you get a mind to, chille. You gone put this here little one ta work too? Does she have a name? Annie Mae continued without waiting for answers.

Lord, chille, looks like you ain’t fed her in a year. Go in dar and git dat chille a biscuit from da counter. Tell ‘Zekiel I said ta give dat chille a biscuit an put a dab a dat jelly I made last week on it. Go on chille, ain’t ya hungry?

Katie stood mesmerized by her. Annie Mae, being the largest woman she had ever seen, terrified her. She understood she was not supposed to stare. But she had never seen a figure quite like this in her life- huge, black, and with the whitest teeth.

Watching her stare at Annie Mae’s teeth, I’d wager Katie was wondering if she put a whitener on her teeth as I do. Katie’s mind was always full of questions and rarely did she get satisfactory answers from adults.

She had asked me many times why we must leave our home. Why were we fleeing in the middle of the night? And why did we not get to say goodbye to Seth? Although she feared her stepfather, she would have liked to tell him goodbye.

Answering in brief sentences or worse, I would make up something that Katie knew to be untrue. Such as Seth was on a business trip, so we couldn’t tell him we were leaving. But his snoring and my shushing her several times as we grabbed our things told her he was present. She asked the hardest question of all, and I didn’t have the heart to answer her. Why couldn’t she bring her toys and clothes if we weren’t coming back?

She had been so sleepy that grabbing her favorite blanket slipped her mind. Always careful to keep her security blanket with her, even I had forgotten it. My heart broke, knowing she wished she held it now.

Chille? You don’t speak, chille? Annie Mae softened her voice as she spoke to Katie, but Katie only nodded her head. At once, she tried to conceal herself behind my skirt. She didn’t want to meet this strange woman who scared her. Her typical reserved manner became more pronounced because she was confused, tired, and, yes, hungry.

Katie, answer Miss Annie Mae. Stroking her hair, I put my arm around her. My soothing voice and warm skin’s comfort were not enough because, at that moment, Katie stood paralyzed with intimidation. I returned my attention to Annie Mae and tried to convey my apologies.

She’s exhausted and hungry. I have one more appointment and I’ll need to run a few errands today. Will it be okay if I start tomorrow?

Baby, that chille ain’t gone last till tomorrow if ya don’t feed her. Come in here with me. She moved like lightning and before I could argue, Annie Mae was halfway towards the sideboard cafe.

As if rehearsed, the teenage boy behind the counter prepared food when he saw Annie Mae coming. By the time we walked across the country store, a small feast waited before us.

Son, what’s wrong with ya? I taught you better’n dat! Git dem chitlins offa dat plate. White folks don’t want chitlins.

I didn’t know Mama Mae. I thought you was wantin’ a snack again. How’s I s’ppose ta know whut ya comin’ in here ta feed some white folks? The boy appeared about seventeen years old but was small for his age and acted agitated by our presence. His clothes were a little too small for him, giving him a more juvenile look. Shy and off standish, he only glanced up for a moment to check us out.

Despite his apprehension, every time he thought we weren’t looking at him, he would peek up at us. We were an oddity to everyone: workers and customers alike. We intrigued them all.

Watch yo mouth, ‘Zekiel, for I watch if fer ya. I taught ya better din ta talk ’bout folks right in front of ’em. Annie Mae turned to me. I be sorry Missy, that ya heard all that nonsense. He lost his momma when he was real young, so we took him in. He’s a little slow, but he’s fine once he knows ya. She motioned for us both to sit at the counter. We hesitated but obeyed.

She proceeded to the other side of the counter to make a plate full of food for us. If we had not been starving, we would probably never have been brave enough to try it.

When Annie Mae opened the door on the back wall, I saw a variety of meat hanging in the dark room. Now I understood the smoked-meat fragrance of the store when we walked in. She disappeared into the vault and returned three seconds later with an enormous slab of dried beef. She proceeded to the work surface across the back wall and laid the huge portion on it.

With a machete, she chopped two pieces from one end, a large piece, and a smaller one. She placed them on two plates. How a woman her size moved with such swift speed amazed me.

Katie and I looked at the meat and then at each other. We weren’t sure if we should cut it or pick it up and bite it.

Before we decided, Annie Mae told the boy to take the slab back to the cooling room. Next, she whipped out a sizable ladle full of black-eyed peas and a separate bowl of collards with lots of pot liquor. To finish our already full plates, she placed a nice sized portion of cornbread on them, which she broke off with her hand rather than cut.

Last, she produced forks and placed them on a paper napkin beside each plate. She stepped back, put her hands on her hips, and smiled at us, very satisfied with herself.

I thought everything smelled wonderful. It reminded me of the family reunions my father’s family used to have every year. All my aunts, cousins, grandparents, and uncles came from all over the southeast. It was the biggest feast of homegrown, made-from-scratch extravaganza for which anyone could ask. Oh, how I missed those laid-back days.

Overtaken with sudden nostalgia, I disregarded my manners. Grabbing the fork, I began eating faster than normal and almost forgot to dip my cornbread into the pot liquor before I bit it. The déjà vu of my childhood came for the second time today.

As the aromas predicted, this was the best southern meal I had enjoyed since those childhood rarities. The meat, flavored with just the right amount of salt, stung my lips the perfect amount.

Mommy, Katie glanced up at me with wonder in her eyes. Her hunger gnawed at her stomach, too, but she thought I must have been starving to eat this weird variety of so-called food. Katie had never seen strange food like this before.

She’d grown accustomed to prime rib sliced paper thin just like George, our butler, carved for her at home. He sympathized that Miss Katie did not like meat much. That’s why he always carved Katie’s so thin for her to chew it with her few remaining teeth. She was looking around for some dinner yeast rolls fresh from the oven. Instead, she stared in awe at me as I put my cornbread in the juice of my chopped-up green vegetable.

Katie, eat baby, I prompted her.

What is it, momma? She gaped at her hearty plate of food. I couldn’t help but smile. Katie was raised with only city cuisine created by one of the finest chefs available, George Moncrieff.

George had enjoyed the restaurant business for twenty-three years with much success. But after entrusting his partner in life and business with all his assets, he was left lonely and broke. With no choice but to sell the business for far less than it was worth, he began working as a chef and butler for my husband, Seth, to avoid complete demise.

At first, his experience left him bitter. Yet over the years, he learned to enjoy the free time of caring for only one family rather than the endless patronage of hungry clients night after night. By the time I married Seth, George considered himself one of the family. Except, of course, that he ate in the kitchen with the other help. And he never voiced his opinion. And he enjoyed little life outside of cooking and managing our household staff.

We would miss him most of all, and he would miss us, too. George, being the best friend I’d had for a long time, was the sole person who knew I fled in the night. He would be the only one to understand.

Baby, these are collard greens, and this is cornbread. You just dip the corner of the bread in the juice right here and then eat it. It’s wonderful. Try it. Katie’s eyes showed her skepticism, but she was just hungry enough to give it a try.

Chapter two

Regroup

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My sleep was restless that night. The nightmares came and went faster than the hours. I tried to quiet my sobs for fear of waking Katie.

The shelter had been kind enough to allow me to stay an extra night longer than the usual two-night maximum. They showed compassion to me because my family didn’t live close by to help. Seth had ostracized them from my life. There were a few casual friends, but I dared not contact them.

My sudden disappearance was the best way for all involved. It was clean, quick, and immediate with no teary goodbye to the staff. And no cajoling from Katie to take Sam, her horse.

Seth would tell awful lies about me to cover his responsibility in pushing me away, but most of the staff knew better than to trust all he said.

Yes, this was the best way. He would wake up to find us gone. He’d spend more time deciding on the lies he would tell than he would looking for us. Dare I hope he would not find us? The thought of those consequences petrified me.

That night, I lay thinking between nightmares and wondering what I had done. I left with no preparation, no car, no money, and no job. The magnitude of my predicament hit me all of a sudden. 

We left our mansion in a taxi and headed north to throw Seth off our trail. Only taking it far enough away not to spark interest from the cab driver. From there, we grabbed another taxi and headed due south to the bus station. 

Each ride took us further from our beautiful home across the expansive city. 

The last bus ride headed to the other side of Atlanta that showed no resemblance to being in the same country. Even with the ride exchanges, the entire trip took only a little over an hour in the middle of the night. 

Even so, the two places appeared worlds apart. When I left the house, I didn’t know where I would end up, only making decisions as we went.

Each ride pulled me further into this world that permeated with desperation.

At last, I ended up in the southern part of the city, notoriously known for destitution. Seth would never think to look for me here.

That’s when I called the Battered Women’s shelter and asked for help. Per the shelter’s instructions, I went to the welfare office that same morning. 

I qualified for a free apartment, but its location was not one I ever dreamed I would accept. The only way I kept my emotions hidden from Katie was by telling myself this was only a temporary situation.

My plan would be to complete the hours I needed for my beauty license. Then I would be able to provide for us. Because of my financial situation, I qualified for free education and could finish at no cost to me. Once I completed my education, I would find a job in a comfortable middle-class area. 

Katie and I would be happy. This is what I kept telling myself. Try as I might, my thoughts kept coming back to how I was going to survive this next year. This environment was unsafe and undesirable, even to those who lived here all their lives.

My beautiful blond-haired daughter would stand out like an Easter bunny at Christmas in her class once school started back. I said a silent prayer that God would keep us safe. I turned to glimpse Katie sleeping beside me, peaceful and oblivious to what lay ahead.

The room was bare except for a small chest of drawers, a double bed, and a lamp on the side table. The shelter took us in and provided second-hand clothes, meager amounts of food, and much-needed advice. Everything they did for us, I appreciated.

The next day, we would embark on a new journey on the opposite side of the city from the one we were so familiar. Our new neighborhood was different in every way from our own that we had enjoyed for the past five years. 

Sheer exhaustion allowed me to fall asleep at last, only to be reconciled with my nightmares.

The rapping at the door the next morning was louder than I thought necessary. 

Once I roused, I realized it was the fourth time she called me. The overseer must have become frustrated when I didn’t answer from being in a deep sleep. Because there was not an alarm clock in every room, the overseer had been waking me with a rap at the door each morning.

If I were ever rich again, I would donate alarm clocks to the shelter, I promised aloud. While I was at it, I would donate a rug for the cold hardwood floor.

I’m up. Thank you.

You’d better be, honey. It’s eight o’clock!

No! Oh my, how could I have slept so late? I’m supposed to be at work in an hour.

Yeah, honey. Well, I’ve been trying to wake you for an hour already. I was about to open the door and come in. Thought perhaps the stress got to ya and you decided it wasn’t worth it. Resenting her implication, I shook the insinuation from my head.

Although I admitted that suicide might be something many of the women in my position might consider. I would not allow myself to entertain the idea. I had Katie to think about. Despite my hopeless situation at the time, I reminded myself again it was temporary.

One day I would be happy, financially independent, and carefree. Focusing on my goal, I tried to stay positive rather than letting reality overwhelm me. I dressed in an outfit given to me by the shelter and roused Katie. Hunger made my stomach growl. Katie would wake hungry as well.

We were used to George spoiling us by laying out a spread of breakfast on the buffet. The aroma of fresh baked apples filling the house seduced me from the bed even after a wretched night.

His menu varied each day. From multi-grain pancakes with apple butter and fresh fruit one day. To turkey sausage on the made-to-order omelet bar the next day. George laid all this out and served us as our family came downstairs. 

How awe-struck I’d been with all the luxuries Seth’s money afforded us.

When Seth asked me to marry him, my motivation was that my daughter would have opportunities I would never be able to give her without his affluence. Although I sensed he was not ideal, as neither a husband nor a father. 

I don’t think I ever loved him. He entered my life like a whirlwind, and I found the security he offered irresistible. In part, I married him to have a father for Katie, but he never accepted her. In fact, he resented the attention I bestowed upon her from our first date on.

Nevertheless, we got along well, and his clean-cut handsomeness made my heart flutter. We enjoyed so many of the same things, from shopping to horseback riding. Katie liked him at first too, even though he never showed affection towards her.

My hope was that as he grew to know her,