Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
So I put my head down and took extra business classes to make sure I would be okay when I gave birth. I took three weeks off and then jumped back into school. My grandfather covered all the daycare bills for Sofia, and I had a small trust fund from when my parents passed away to help with expenses.
My grandfather was my saving grace. I was so scared to tell him I was pregnant and see the disappointment in his eyes. When I was four years old, I was in the car with my parents when they were struck by a drunk driver. They hit a tree head-on, and the only ones who walked away from the accident with no scratches were the drunk driver and me. That day, he lost his only daughter, who he raised by himself after my grandmother passed away from an aneurysm when my mother was ten, and gained me.
"I’m dressed," Sofia says, walking into the room wearing her private school outfit of a pleated skirt and a white polo shirt. She walks over to one of the stools and hops up on it as I take the strawberries out of the fridge and put some on a plate for her.
"Ohh, my favorite,” she says, clapping her hands. “Thank you, Momma."
I rush to make her the pancakes she wants while I mix myself a protein smoothie. I leave her to eat while I walk back to my bedroom and get dressed. I slip on a pair of black pants with a short-sleeved black shirt with white vertical and horizontal lines. Slipping on my black shoes, I walk to the bathroom to apply some mascara and then untie my hair from the ponytail, brushing it once. I’m walking out when my phone rings with a fifteen-minute warning. “Let’s go,” I say, returning to the kitchen to see Sofia putting her empty plate in the sink. "Go brush your teeth,” I say. “I’ll get your lunch." I put my smoothie cup in the sink and rinse it out, then turn to grab both of our lunch boxes out of the fridge.
She skips off to brush her teeth while I put everything in the dishwasher and start it. I walk to the bathroom and find her finishing. I grab the hairbrush. “Two ponytails or one?" I ask, and she holds up two fingers. I brush her brown hair and put it up in pigtails. "Shoes,” I say when the phone alerts me with a five-minute timer.
I find her at the front door, slipping on her blue Mary Jane shoes, strapping the Velcro herself. I grab her schoolbag with my purse and the two lunch boxes on my way out of the house. She stops right beside me while I lock the door and holds my free hand as we walk over to my truck. I press the unlock button to open the back door, and she climbs into her booster seat. I watch her buckle herself in while I put our bags in the front passenger seat. I close the door and make my way to the driver's side.
Pulling out of the complex, I make my way over to her school. “Momma," she calls out, and I look at her through the rearview mirror. “Can we go to the beach this weekend?" she asks, looking out her window.
"We can see,” I say. “We have to go visit a couple of camps. Summer is right around the corner."
"Can we go to the beach after?" she asks, and I smile over at her. When the sun hits her eyes, I can see her father in her.
"Probably,” I say, pulling up to her school and parking. I get out, then walk over and grab her bag out of the front seat before opening the back door for her. She jumps out, and I hand her the backpack and lunch box. I hold her hand as we walk toward the playground. Kids are running and playing, and a couple of the little girls call her name.
Stopping outside of the gate, I squat down in front of her, and my heart fills with so much love. “Have the best day." Tapping her nose with my finger, I hug her and kiss her once, then she turns to walk into the schoolyard. I get up and watch her play with her friends, making a couple of to-do lists in my head.
"Morning." I hear a mom beside me and look over to see the head of the PTA approaching. "I was hoping I would see you this morning,” she says, smiling, and all of her screams fake. "We are having a bake sale at the end of the month, and we were wondering if you could possibly make your special cupcakes and cookies."
"Sure,” I say. “I’ll do a dozen of each."