Imperfect

T W E N T Y - F O U R - T E R R I R U S S E L L

  My daughter wasn't the same as she used to be—she was fidgety this time, like she was hiding something from me.

    "I wish this baby would hurry up." I told her as I rubbed her belly efficiently.

    "I know," she sniggered weirdly—awkwardly, "she needs to hurry and come out... Momma has big plans soon."

  It's September and all of the leaves have fallen. Abigale was now eight months, but she didn't look like the same girl that I raised—it seemed as if she had a lot on her mind. But, knowing my daughter, I knew that she was a stubborn human being; it would be hard for her to cry her problems out to JUST anybody—friends, or even her own parents.

  Lawrence was the solution to Abby's problems, but it looks like she's taking real good care of herself after Lawrence passed away.

    I glimpsed—seeing a ring on my daughter's finger—I never saw that ring before and I wondered who gave it to her.

    "That's new," I told her as I held her hand from the bottom, touching the ring, rubbing it, "where did you get it from?"

    "A friend," she explained to me nervously, "it's been a few weeks since I had it..."

    She had the ring for a few weeks—who was this friend? I wanted to ask her, but I knew Abigale would've gotten upset if I was all up in her business.

    "Lawrence's birthday is coming up..." I reminded her, hoping that she didn't forget.

    "I know," she explained, "but I don't think I'm going to be celebrating it."

    I looked at her, confused at why she won't be celebrating Lawrence's birthday.

    "Why not," I asked her, "are you going to the cemetary tomorrow?"

    "No," she went on, "I don't want to be reminded of the hurt and pain that I went through—I want to be happy; I want to be a happy wife and move on from Lawrence and let him rest in peace..."

    She wanted to move on from Lawrence and be a happy wife. Something about that didn't sound quite right to me.

    I wanted to ask her eagerly—very badly, what was going on, but I could see the facial expression on her face. She seemed bothered, not wanting to hear anything that would piss her off even more.

    "You're driving home?" I asked her—worried about her safety.

    "No I walked, mom," she answered me, "I'll walk back—I don't need any help..."

    She's so stubborn. For once, just for only one time in her life, can someone offer her help and she just accept it and stop being so damn stubborn all of the time.