Texas Rose Evermore (A Texas Rose Ranch Novel Book 3) by Katie Graykowski

Author:Katie Graykowski [Graykowski, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Romance
Published: 2017-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 11

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Two hours later, Rosie stood at the sink washing the dishes. She scrubbed the soup pan with a sponge she’d found under the sink.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk about her past with Dallas… Okay, she really didn’t want to talk about her past… with anyone.

In her experience, the past wasn’t something to be remembered, it was something to be overcome.

Dallas had a loving mother and a loving father. She doubted he could understand what her childhood had been like.

Talking about her mother only made her feel guilty. As a child, Rosie had understood from the very beginning that she hadn’t been wanted.

By the time her mother had realized she was pregnant with Rosie, it had been too late for an abortion. Rosie knew that her mother would have gotten rid of her if she could have, because her mother had told her so every chance she’d gotten. Even now, the hurt was so raw and painful that she couldn’t talk about it to anyone. She’d ruined her mother’s life. And she’d worked harder and longer than anyone, trying to make up for it.

Tears burned her eyes, and she angrily swiped them away. Tears were useless things, and she detested herself for crying over a crappy childhood. Everyone thought their childhood was crappy. She needed to get over it. No one wanted to hear her sob story. Even she didn’t want to go over the details any longer, but here she was hashing out the low points.

It wasn’t fair, but then again, life wasn’t fair, so bitching about it wouldn’t change a thing. She’d tried so hard not to be a burden on her mother or her sisters, but she’d failed time and time again.

She remembered so clearly sitting in the closet trying to be quiet while her mother and her current boyfriend were having some “private time” in the one-bedroom apartment she shared with her mother and sisters. Rosie had only been five, or maybe six, and her sisters had been old enough to be out with friends all the time. She’d been in that closet for hours, and she’d needed to use the bathroom. She’d waited as long as she could, but she had to open the door and head to the bathroom.

Her mother had whipped her so hard she’d wet her pants. She’d tried so hard to be good, but she was never good enough.

Tears came harder for the little girl who hadn’t been wanted.

Rarely did she let herself wallow in self-pity, but sometimes it snuck up on her and put her in a choke hold. She scrubbed the pot harder, as if she could scrub away the hurt.

Logically, the adult version of herself knew that her mother was the problem and not her, but the little girl who just wanted to be loved still lived inside her.

She’d gone from her mother’s hatred to her sister’s coldness. At least Louisa didn’t hate her. That was something. But her sister had ruled with an iron fist.

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