Free [Finding Emma 02.5] Dottie's Memories by Steena Holmes Page A

through when she first ran away.
    That has to be it. There's no other explanation.
     

 
    March 30
     
     
    There are days when I am so angry. At Mary for leaving me to raise her daughter. At Jack for not understanding the situation we are in. At myself for being so angry. The only person I'm not mad at is Emmie. But I take my anger out on her. Not physically. But I pull away. It's the only way I know how to deal with my feelings. I'm not a talker. I don't believe in the theory that if I talk through my feelings things will magically get better. They won't. They'll just become more real.
    Today I hid myself away in our bedroom. Thankfully Jack understood. I used to do this when Mary was a young child. I needed time to myself. Quiet when I could get lost in my own thoughts and not worry about anything else. I'm too old to raise a child. We're too old. Why can't Jack see that?
    Jack wants to reach out to Mary, to convince her to come home and raise Emmie. I think it's a bad idea. I'm not sure why, but there's something inside me that tells me it wouldn't work. I told Jack I would try to contact Mary. But I won't. I can't. She knows where we live. She knows our phone number. Our daughter knows she can come home any time she wants to. But she's chosen not to.
    Her last words to me were, "I hate you." I'll never forget her tone. Every child eventually says that to their parents, but they never believe it. Deep down. But Mary did. I heard it in her voice. I don't know what I did that was so evil, so horrific to earn her hatred, but it's there.
    Every day I remind myself that I can do it differently. That I can raise Emmie to be a loving young woman. But every day I'm also reminded of my age and how tired I am and I get worried. What happens if I die too soon? What if Jack is the one who dies first? What if we die together, like we had talked about, knowing that without each other, there was no reason to live? What would happen to Emmie then?
    Mary will never be a mother to Emmie. She might as well be dead. What kind of mother says that about her own child? Maybe this is the reason Mary hates me so much, because she knows that I'm the type of mother to say that.
    Because both she and I know it is true. Mary is dead. And there's nothing I can do to change that.
     
     
     
     

 
     
    June 20
     
    It's not often we go on family trips, but today was an extra special day: the one year anniversary since Emmie came to live with us. We wanted to do something extra special with her today. Actually, I wanted to make her a cake and give her the new tea set I'd found, but it was Jack's idea to go out.
    There's a little town about an hour away that has a playhouse. Jack once took me to see Romeo and Juliette there for our anniversary back when we were younger. We even stayed at a bed and breakfast, something that was quite the novelty back in the day.
    Last night I finished sewing a new dress for Emmie. The fabric was on sale and so girly. Something Mary would never wear, but perfect for her daughter. I sometimes wonder how Mary could birth a child like Emmie. At times, she's the complete opposite to the child I raised.
    I laid the new dress out for Emmie this morning while she was eating breakfast with Jack. I swear, if our neighbours still lived next door, they could have heard her squeals when she saw it. But she looks like a button as my mother used to say. A button worth sewing. And she did. I made sure Jack took a picture today before we left.
    Emmie was a little ball of energy on the drive today. She kept asking where we were going, but Jack would only wink at her and leave me to calm her down, as usual. I swear, he has no idea some days of how to raise a young child. He likes to get her worked up over the littlest things. He says her laughter is a balm to his soul. Honestly — a balm to his soul. The old man is growing soft.
    We stopped at a little tea shop and ate cucumber sandwiches with homemade lemonade. It was too sour for