Chapter 4 - Isabelle

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I couldn't believe he did it again. Another broken promise. Another sleepless night. Another strike. This makes two. I know he said he didn't know if he would come over because it was going to be a long night at the office, but damn! He should have called. Fuck it. I'm going to call.

It was 6:32 a.m. and I needed to at least know that he was ok. It wasn't like him not to just call so maybe something happened. My anger shifted to concern. The phone rang, and rang and rang. Then his voicemail came up.

Well that didn't help. I ended the call even more worried that maybe something really did happen. But what should I do? Should I go up to his office? But what if he wasn't there? That wouldn't have helped me at all. I just wanted to know he was ok.

Then my phone buzzed. He texted me.

Dame: 6:40 a.m. Sorry babe. I feel asleep in my car. I'm on the way now.

Really? He fell asleep in his car.

Isa S: 6:41 a.m. I just called you. Why didn't you pick up or call back?

Dame: 6:42 a.m. You want me to call you back or get my ass home? :)

Oh we have jokes? His sarcasm was pissing me off. He knew he'd fucked up and he didn't want to hear me yell about it. But that's okay. He wouldn't be able to dodge this bullet once he got home.

I began the battle by not texting him back. I didn't want to let out the pissivity that I had built up over the phone. No. I needed to save it in order to destroy his soul when he walked through the door. I grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and sat in it, directly in front of the door. Then I hit my so where were you pose. No. That was too direct. I needed to ease him in and then drop that bomb.

I put the chair back and headed into the kitchen. I know what I'll do...I'll start cooking breakfast. Yeah. And then when he comes in I would take the hot bacon grease and throw it in his face. BAM! I bet that would teach his ass to respect my love. Wait. Maybe that was a bit cray-cray.

I paused for a moment, getting lost in my thoughts.

Look at who I was turning into – My Mom.

The thought shook my soul, un-nerved by such a damming comparison I had to take a seat. It was scary but funny at the same time. I was roaming about the house, planning how to best cuss out my man through some elaborate show of angry theatrics and for what? When Mom use to do it to Dad, he never responded how she wanted him to. He just ignored her and went on about his life. I'm sure that's how they stayed married because Mom was definitely nuts.

Then I had another epiphany–was I comparing him to my Dad now? I never thought about it until that moment. My Dad was the pinnacle of what any man should strive to be. It was an incredible compliment to be compared to him. My Dad is a King. A provider. A protector. A cheerleader. The best Dad in the world. I wanted to married someone just like my Dad.

The anger and drama that once consumed my mind, started to clear out only to be replaced by calmness, and even relief. Dame was the only one to get me so riled up but at the same time, could keep so damn happy. He had to be the one. He was my King.

I heard the key in the door and raced over to it. When he opened the door I embraced him and kissed his cheek.

"Are you ok?" He questioned me. I'm sure he was taken back by my loving behavior but I didn't care. I kept the love coming.

"Yes. It's all good now." I didn't bring up his absence. I just enjoyed finally believing that I was falling in love with my King. My future husband. The future father to my kids. I was glowing at such a thought. I went to the kitchen and start cooking him breakfast. He went to the room and our new, clear day started.

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