Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

The Old You

"...and he wants to send me away!" You cry into your cell phone, pacing back and forth out in the porch, the only place you could find solace.

"Honey, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that," Your mom's voice sounds on the other end of the line.

"But he did! He totally did!"

"He's probably just worried about you."

"Worried about me?" You repeat, your head spinning and your heart pounding against your chest, "He has no reason to worry about me-"

"He's your husband," She interrupts you before you can say anything more, "He cares about you and he's probably worried sick. I know I am. Honey, is everything alright?"

You sit down in one of the wicker chairs and put your head in your free hand. "I don't know, Mom. Things have just been...difficult lately," You admit, starting to come to terms with what you've been denying for so long.

"And why is that?"

"Mom, I don't want this to turn into a therapy session," You chuckle, running a hand through your hair and sitting back.

"Well maybe that's what you need," She says, siding with your husband in thinking that you need help, "You've got a lot on your mind and it's not good to keep that all in. You'll drive yourself mad."

You heave a sigh, "You really think so?"

"I know so."

You sit there in silence.

"Well, dear, I've got to get going. Your stepfather and I are taking your stepsister to a trip to New York City for her birthday and I've still got to pack."

You roll your eyes. Must be nice.

"Hey, call me sooner this time, okay?" She tells you with utmost seriousness, "I haven't heard from you in nearly over a year. So much has happened that I didn't even know about!" For example, Zach. She didn't even know you were pregnant again until Patrick called her to come to the hospital to meet her new grandson.

"Bye, Mom," You retort, annoyed, before ending the call and setting your cell phone aside.

You sigh and look out at your backyard, the usually vibrant scene a dull gray since there's a storm approaching. Or at least, that's what the news report claims.

The door behind you clicks open and you glance back over your shoulder, seeing your daughter standing in the doorway, leaning against the threshold and playing with the ribbons on her dress.

You smirk, "Hey, Gabs, what's up?"

She shrugs her shoulders, saying nothing.

"You want to sit out here with me?" You ask. She nods her head and walks over to you, climbing into your lap. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close, resting your chin on her head.

"Do you not love me anymore, Mommy?" She inquires, her voice quiet and hesitant.

"Not love you anymore?" You repeat, "God, no, Gabby. Why wouldn't I love you anymore?"

"Because you don't pay attention to me," She murmurs, tilting her head back to look up at you, "You don't let me do what I want and you seem to hate me."

You push a few curls out of her face, "Honey, I couldn't hate you even if I tried. I've just been really busy lately. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm not paying attention to you."

"You pay so much attention to Zach and Daddy, it's like you're forgetting about me and Ethan," She continues, "Mommy, you're not forgetting about me and Ethan, are you?"

"Of course not," You chuckle at her ridiculousness, "Gabby, I'm not forgetting about you, or Ethan. I've just been really busy lately, like I said."

"When will you get less busy?" She thinks aloud.

You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, "I-I don't know when."

"I hope it's soon," Your daughter mutters, resting her head back on your chest, "Because I miss the old you, Mommy."

You raise your eyebrow, "The old me?"

"Mhmm," She curls up in a ball in your lap, as if she's preparing herself to take her afternoon nap - something you desperately need and want but haven't been able to do. "The old you smiled a lot more. Laughed a lot more. Wasn't so...so..." She yawns, "Not Mommy."