Daddy's Little Girl
Chapter 1
You never know how much you love someone until they're gone.
I remember the day she was born. My little girl, all wrapped up in a pink bundle. I had stood by the glass, staring at her as she wriggled around, her little arms flailing about. I couldn't help but hate the sight of her. She had killed my wife, and for that, I despised her.
When they tried to give her to me, I refused. I didn't want to look at her, so why would I even hold her? I eventually had to, but I wanted to prolong it for as long as possible. So when the day come to take her home, I had the nurse put her in the car seat, which I carried to my vehicle. I had considered putting her up for adoption, but for some reason, thought against it. I had also thought about hiring a nanny, but I hardly made enough to provide for myself. Hiring a nanny would cost me money I didn't have. So, I was stuck with her.
I wasn't cut out to be a father, that I had been sure of. And the fact that she had taken my beloved wife from me, didn't make me any better. It also didn't help that I was an alcoholic. I was an angry and negligent drunk, and it almost cost Emma her life, more than a few times.
Once, I had forgotten to change her diaper for an entire day, causing extreme diaper rash. I only remembered when her constant wailing finally irritated me enough. Another time, I had been so drunk that I almost dropped her, since I couldn't exactly see straight. I spent a lot of my time ignoring her annoying cries, sitting on the couch and watching television as I drank can after can of beer.
So, when the social worker came to my small apartment space, I was confused as to why it shocked me.
“Mr. Anderson,” the woman had said in a polite voice, which sounded like it could be fake. “My name is Callie Armstrong.”
I looked at her as if she were insane.
“And?” I asked, snorting at her.
“I'm with the Department of Social Services. I'm here because there has been a complaint about your parenting.”
I stared at her, a blank expression on my face. I didn't answer her, and she tried to peer over my shoulder and into the apartment.
“May I come in?”
I continued giving her a blank stare.
“May I come in,” she repeated, sounding more like a statement this time, rather than a question.
I shrugged my shoulders, and moved aside so she could enter. She looked cautious as she stepped over the threshold and into the cramped living space, examining everything. Her face twisted with disgust as she took note of all the dust and rusty furniture.
She turned to me, still looking disgusted.
“Where is the child?”
I felt my gut twist into knots. I had a very bad feeling about this, and I knew that she would probably take Emma away from me. I should have been happy. But for some reason, the thought of her not being around upset me. I felt the need to protect her at all costs, regardless of the fact that she took my wife away.
“Where is she, Mr. Anderson?” she demanded in a stern voice.
“I don't know,” I lied.
She narrowed her eyes at me, and I made the mistake of glancing at the bedroom door. She caught my gaze, and turned her eyes to the door, making her way to it. I panicked, running after her. She heard me, and her hand immediately went to the walkie talkie attached to her belt.
“I need backup,” she said.
And within seconds, two police officers barged in and grabbed me. We were in Emma's room now, and I was struggling to get free as she walked over to the bed, where Emma was laying. I hadn't been able to afford a crib, so she had been sleeping in the bed next to me. She rolled around a lot since she was now one, at least I thought she was, and it was harder to keep her from falling off.
The woman, Callie, picked her up and carried her out of the room. I tried and tried, but they wouldn't let go of me. Once she reached the front door, she turned to look at me.
“People like you make me sick,” She muttered. “You'll never see your child again, that is a promise, Mr. Anderson.”
And with that, she left, disappearing out the front door. She was gone, and so was my daughter.
I remember the day she was born. My little girl, all wrapped up in a pink bundle. I had stood by the glass, staring at her as she wriggled around, her little arms flailing about. I couldn't help but hate the sight of her. She had killed my wife, and for that, I despised her.
When they tried to give her to me, I refused. I didn't want to look at her, so why would I even hold her? I eventually had to, but I wanted to prolong it for as long as possible. So when the day come to take her home, I had the nurse put her in the car seat, which I carried to my vehicle. I had considered putting her up for adoption, but for some reason, thought against it. I had also thought about hiring a nanny, but I hardly made enough to provide for myself. Hiring a nanny would cost me money I didn't have. So, I was stuck with her.
I wasn't cut out to be a father, that I had been sure of. And the fact that she had taken my beloved wife from me, didn't make me any better. It also didn't help that I was an alcoholic. I was an angry and negligent drunk, and it almost cost Emma her life, more than a few times.
Once, I had forgotten to change her diaper for an entire day, causing extreme diaper rash. I only remembered when her constant wailing finally irritated me enough. Another time, I had been so drunk that I almost dropped her, since I couldn't exactly see straight. I spent a lot of my time ignoring her annoying cries, sitting on the couch and watching television as I drank can after can of beer.
So, when the social worker came to my small apartment space, I was confused as to why it shocked me.
“Mr. Anderson,” the woman had said in a polite voice, which sounded like it could be fake. “My name is Callie Armstrong.”
I looked at her as if she were insane.
“And?” I asked, snorting at her.
“I'm with the Department of Social Services. I'm here because there has been a complaint about your parenting.”
I stared at her, a blank expression on my face. I didn't answer her, and she tried to peer over my shoulder and into the apartment.
“May I come in?”
I continued giving her a blank stare.
“May I come in,” she repeated, sounding more like a statement this time, rather than a question.
I shrugged my shoulders, and moved aside so she could enter. She looked cautious as she stepped over the threshold and into the cramped living space, examining everything. Her face twisted with disgust as she took note of all the dust and rusty furniture.
She turned to me, still looking disgusted.
“Where is the child?”
I felt my gut twist into knots. I had a very bad feeling about this, and I knew that she would probably take Emma away from me. I should have been happy. But for some reason, the thought of her not being around upset me. I felt the need to protect her at all costs, regardless of the fact that she took my wife away.
“Where is she, Mr. Anderson?” she demanded in a stern voice.
“I don't know,” I lied.
She narrowed her eyes at me, and I made the mistake of glancing at the bedroom door. She caught my gaze, and turned her eyes to the door, making her way to it. I panicked, running after her. She heard me, and her hand immediately went to the walkie talkie attached to her belt.
“I need backup,” she said.
And within seconds, two police officers barged in and grabbed me. We were in Emma's room now, and I was struggling to get free as she walked over to the bed, where Emma was laying. I hadn't been able to afford a crib, so she had been sleeping in the bed next to me. She rolled around a lot since she was now one, at least I thought she was, and it was harder to keep her from falling off.
The woman, Callie, picked her up and carried her out of the room. I tried and tried, but they wouldn't let go of me. Once she reached the front door, she turned to look at me.
“People like you make me sick,” She muttered. “You'll never see your child again, that is a promise, Mr. Anderson.”
And with that, she left, disappearing out the front door. She was gone, and so was my daughter.