An Unexpected Romance

An Unexpected Love

My father was determined to be rid of me. He planned to marry me off to the next gentleman who came along, whether we were a suitable match or not. I try to tell myself he cares for me, but I think it's clear. My father wouldn't force me to marry a man I'm not in love with if he did.

Once, when my mother was alive, he had told me that if a man was less than a gentleman and not worthy of me, he would never dream of sending me off. He always said he would demand the man who captures my heart come over for dinner. He would insist on questioning the man his intentions. If he would treat me with nothing more or less than love. He wouldn't marry for money, he'd marry for love. He wouldn't marry because he was forced, he would marry because it's what he and I want.

He said all of this because he loved me. He wanted someone to love me more than he does one day. I'd marry and the wedding would be full of love. Everyone would see how smitten my man was with me. Of course, everyone would see how smitten I was. My father would cry because his little girl is all grown up. He would look forward to any letter I send, and any visit I come up with. No matter where I went or how far I lived, he would insist I write to him and Mother.

What would mother do at the wedding? What would my mother's reaction to my future husband be? Absolutely nothing, because Mother is gone. That's what changed, father became distanced after mother's death. I thought it would pass. Everyone told me he was just grieving. I was foolish enough to believe their words and wishes. Foolish to accept their prayers.

All my father did was stare at a blank wall and demand work from me. I wasn't allowed to leave the house, only work and take care of him. I would make sure he would eat and take care of himself because if he wasn't staring at a blank wall he was working. Always working, always planning my demise. Why my demise? Why would I view something my father was doing for me as something dreadful? He only wanted me to be rid of. I don't blame him. I'm his reminder of mother. I remind him daily who he lost. Her blue eyes, her blonde curls, her nose, I was a spitting image of who he loved dearly. I was a spitting image of someone that was ripped from his heart. He couldn't look at me. He couldn't speak to me. Even my voice reminded him of his wife. He wanted me gone.