Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I read the rest of the write-up and wasn’t sure what to feel. Was it callous not to feel anything at all? There was nothing there. No anger, hate, nothing. I didn’t even feel bad that he was not going to be there for the girls because the truth is, I was dreading having to work out a custody deal with him where I’d have to allow my kids to spend time with him and the woman who had destroyed our home.
So I did feel something: relief. But nothing I wanted to jump for joy over. It’s sad, but I might as well have been reading about one of the neighbors. I took a few minutes to see if that would change, but nope, it was like closing the book on a chapter in my life. Now I just had to decide what I was going to tell the girls and when. Hopefully, I won’t need to think about that for a long time.
“What are you reading?” I almost fell out of bed.
“When did you get in here? I didn’t hear you.”
“What are you reading?”
‘Girl, don’t even think about lying because that man has been standing over you for two minutes already.’
“Oh, this thing just came across my screen about Paul being sentenced. Funny, I didn’t even know he’d been arrested.”
“And what would you have done if you had known?”
“Nothing, I’m just saying. I was mar…. Oooh, nothing.” If looks could kill.
Okay, damn, don’t remind you that I was married with three kids before we met.
‘Ooh girl, I feel a dicking down coming on. With your stupid ass!’
Oh, damn, you were right, Justice.
‘Too bad he found your hidey hole, or you coulda made a run for it.’
I can’t run; look at me.
I’m complaining, but I’m secretly tickled that my husband can’t keep his hands off of me. Even though we have to take it easy because we’re close to my due date, and the doctor cautioned that there’s a strong possibility that I won’t make it to term.
On the other hand, it always relaxes me, so even though Marcus thought he was punishing me, I won. ‘Hey, Jabba, roll over; you know you’re not supposed to stay on your back for too long.’
Help me up.
‘How the hell am I supposed to do that? And you better not call your husband for help, or he’ll lecture me into a coma.’
‘I don’t understand, you're the one doing stupid shit, and I have to sit through his mini tantrums.’
He’s not lying. Before he left after depleting my energy resources, Marcus had lectured me about stressing myself out over stupid shit; all the while, he was fitting me around the body pillow with another mountain of soft fluffy pillows at my back, but as soon as he left, I sprawled out across the bed because my cooch was hot from all that friction. Now, I can’t roll myself over.
‘As soon as you drop this litter, I’m giving you two weeks to heal because that shit he just did there; we need an encore, only without your spawn in the way.’
It takes longer than two weeks to heal.
‘Well, you better figure that shit out.’
I didn’t even get to ask about Paul, and now I don’t have a phone to search because he took my damn phone. How can someone be so damn jealous over nothing? Petty ass!
‘I don’t care how petty it is, you better use that shit every chance you get.’
Use what?
‘What do you mean use what? That man damn near sprained your back just for mentioning your ex-husband’s name. Don’t you like good dick? How is it that you made it out the womb, and I didn’t?’
‘Look here, Clarabelle.’
Who the hell is Clarabelle?
‘That cow you used to watch when you were a kid. The Disney one.’
What the hell? How do you remember that?
‘Never mind all that Biggie Smalls. As I was saying, from now on, whenever we want a good screwing, do that. Just mention the first initial in your ex’s name, and I promise you’re gonna get it.’
‘I could see it in his face; he was only holding back because of that belly.’
Hey, I thought you said you don’t stay around for the sexy time.
‘This bitch.’
JUSTINE
“What’s this?”
“Your birthing palace.”
“My what?”
“It’s where you’ll give birth.”
“Aren’t I going to the hospital for that?”
Once again, I have no idea what the hell is going on.
The man turned a room I had never seen in another wing of the house into some sort of…I don’t know what to call it. It’s gorgeous, that’s all I can say. The walls are pink marble, there’s nothing but luxury wherever I look, and this does not strike me as a place where guts and gore should be displayed.
The room was bigger than the bedroom in our master suite, and that’s saying a lot. There was a pedestal tub on a marble platform, bathrobes, towels, a bed, a birthing bed, and who knows what else. It also looked like he’d brought half the garden inside.