In Her Shoes Duology #2
ON HOLD
Two romances bloom when two runaway girls get entangled in unexpected circumstances. One gets caught up in the other's former life and the other sets off to make her dreams a reality.
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Being a billionaire's daughte...
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I turned the paper in my hands a few times in a frantic hope that there was more than just this.
I didn't know what I had expected from this letter but it was certainly more than this. This gave nothing away of who my mother was and why she left me. Except the last name James. My name was Julia James.
How could she be so cruel as to not give me the reason? Even if she believed this wouldn't get to me, she should've hoped against hope and explained herself.
And all she had to say to me for that was a mere sorry. Just one sentence as to why she had decided to abandon me forever. And it wasn't like it was a proper closure to me.
I folded up the letter and put it on my table. This was a dead end. It helped me no more than when I didn't have it. The last name James wouldn't do much either. There must be thousands of people with that last name and even if I searched up all of them and went door to door to ask if a lady in their house had abandoned her child, I doubted anybody would reveal that.
It had been sixteen years since that. Anything could've happened in such a long time. They might've moved away.
The words repeated on a loop in my mind and I couldn't help but feel that the letter had a lack of motherly feel to it. Did she not love me? But she said I was a nice kid and wanted me to get adopted into a 'nice' family. I did get adopted into a family which was initially nice but it wasn't permanent. Things changed drastically.
She wanted me to have a good family and if she had hated me, she wouldn't have bothered to write that. She said she was sorry she couldn't take care of me. She didn't say she didn't want to.
But still, I felt the letter was cold and detached as if it wasn't written by my mother. It might be because I'd never known the kind of woman she was.
Not wanting to look at it anymore, I carefully placed it inside a drawer.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," I called out.
Braxton poked his head inside. "Are you free right now?"
"Yes, why?"
"You know, that surprise I told you I had for you. I want to tell you now," he said.
"Right," I said, remembering that night when we were lying next to each other on the tiny couch which was barely holding us both. My cheeks flamed up. "Okay."
The morning after I realized I had fallen asleep next to him. We were up talking for some time the night before and to my embarrassment, I woke up in his arms, the most intimate we'd ever been. I was facing the backrest of the couch and my head was on his arm, using it as a pillow. His other arm was lightly placed over mine, the thin cover tightly wound around us and his front was pressed against my back. He had one leg thrown over my ankles and it seemed to be a habit of his. I could still feel his breath flush against the back of neck and his nose slightly nuzzled behind my ear, cold from the chill of the night.
