How Heaven Met Hell

Chapter One

Ten minutes had passed since I told my mother and step-father goodbye, yet I still stood in front of the mansion we only owned for a few months. The Seattle rain dripped down my still tanned skin from our four month stay in Mexico. My clothes were drenched, my makeup already became ruined. As my stomach turned with anxiety, I gripped my suitcase one hand, car keys in the other. Secretly, I wished my mother would notice me standing in the yard and tell me she changed her mind, but to my dismay, no one saw me or cared. Believe me, my mother loves me unconditionally, but she loves her career and accomplishments more. 

I can still hear her emotionless voice saying, "Angelina, you'll understand one day. A surgeon simply cannot just decline an opportunity like this. Do you want this?" I nodded as she held up a a scarf my grandmother made me. She continued, "One day you'll be saving lives as I am and hear thousands of 'Thank you so much, Doctor Baldwin-Frederick.'" She paused. "Well, of course you'll be called Doctor Baldwin since you have your father's last name. Speaking of your father, he's excited to see you. If only he would have been more excited for your birth," she sighed.

"Mom, why do I have to go live with Dad?" I had asked. "I've moved with you every other relocation!"

"It's not good for you, Angel. It's not healthy for you to keep switching schools. And I know that your father is no white collar man-"

"He is a deadbeat alcoholic that never stops partying!" I had exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air.

For the first time during the whole conversation, she had stopped packing and  made eye contact with me.  Sitting across from me on the bed, she comfortingly tucked my blonde hair behind my ear and murmured, "You turn eighteen in a few months. It's not like your stuck with him for the rest of your life. But I won't have you stuck with me." 

Snapping out of the flashback, I nearly jumped at the sound of thunder. I sighed, wiped a tear away, and finally,  popped the trunk and threw my luggage inside. As the rain continued to pour on me, I finally sat in the driver's seat, and pulled the BMW out of the driveway and started the eighteen and a half hour drive to San Diego. 

Obviously, it would have been a hundred times more sensible and quick to board a flight, but my mother refused to let me leave anything behind, hence my many suitcases. Additionally, my dad wouldn't have to money to buy me a new car, and Heaven forbid my mother give me the money to get a new one. 

As you can probably tell, my mother isn't the most fond of me, her only daughter. To her, I've always been an inconvenience, even if my existence is her fault. As my mother was entering medical school close to San Diego, she met my dad at a party. This comes as a surprise to me. My mother was always too focused on her education to party, as opposed to my father, who dropped out of college his freshmen year. She was born into an extremely wealthy family with lawyers for parents. On the other hand, my father didn't have a dollar to his name. I don't think she ever wanted a relationship with him, let alone a child. She hid her pregnancy from everyone until I was born. She was strong, only missing a few days of school when she went into labor. Oddly enough, she never gave me up for adoption, for what reason, I'll never know. I know she never really loved my father, but on a drunken night, she married him. Four years of fighting and arguing, it resulted in divorce. To this day, I don't remember my parents ever being happy together. My mom had graduated by then and had taken a job in New York. Since then, I've only saw my dad over the summers. Mom has had gold digging boyfriend after gold digging boyfriend until she met Mike, my stepdad. 

Of course, having a surgeon for a mother was rough. As a toddler, I spent most of my days with my drunken dad. He rarely worked and was usually throwing parties at the house until my mom came home from her shift at the hospital. When we moved away from my dad, I usually stayed with a nanny my mom would hire. At a young age, I knew I would have to take care of myself. At age seven, my mother had left me at ballet practice. It wasn't the first time, and I was tired of my instructor chewing my mom out, so I had just walked home. A police officer had picked me up half way home and questioned my mom. She had told him it was just her being forgetful. Every recital I had, she pretended to be "forgetful." I still don't understand how I ended up with her instead of in foster care or why my dad didn't take me.