The Nanny

Sneak Peek - His Daughter

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OKAY SO THIS IS PROBABLY EXACTLY WHAT YOU THINK IT IS AND I DIDN'T PLAN ON IT BEING A THING BUT IT JUST HAPPENED. The

So I'm on my way to vacation in New York right now and I got to messing around in the secret place all my stories are stored (lol it's not ia secret, it's a Google doc ;D) and I started thinking and thinking and before I knew it I was writing a bit of something I think would be fun. Something like a novella surrounding our favorite little kid Haley Paige Garfield, only now she's seventeen and struggling with demons of her own.

This is in no way a sequel; it's more of an insight into how the sweet little girl struggles with growing up with divorced parents and siblings much younger than her.

I'm intrigued by the plot and I hope you all are too. So here's a sneak peek to something that may be nothing or could be a ten-ish chapter novella entitled His Daughter. I hope you enjoy an insight to what it's like to be in her mind! It's short, but it is only a sneak peek. Let me know what you think! <3

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His Daughter — Sneak Peek

I like to think of myself as one of the lucky ones.

Many of my classmates come from loving families, two parents who love each other deeply. Others, like me, come from a family of divorce. There are a few stragglers, though, that only have one parent, or they are completely neglected and forgotten.

I'm quite possibly the only one that believes my parents are far, far better off apart.

Roughly fifty-three percent of marriages end in divorce these days. That's scary. The percentage will only grow, too, which plants the question: why do people even get married anymore if the chances of divorce are so high? What's the point of gathering your loved ones for a celebration of your love that doesn't last forever?

If it weren't for my dad and my stepmom, Natalie, I would already be asking myself these questions. Dad and Natalie's relationship is one I'm too young to understand—at least that's what they think—but it's strong. I see its strength in the way they look each other. We can be at the dinner table, chatting about all of our days, and they'll just smile at each other, no subtitles needed. I see it in Dad kissing Natalie when he leaves for work and again when he gets home. And I see it when Natalie gives him back rubs during our family movie nights, or that she softly rolls her eyes every time he overthinks me going somewhere with friends that aren't girls. Simple, small things, but if you look closely, as I tend to do a lot more now that I'm older, their powerful love is obvious.

Nothing could break them apart. I often imagine they'll be together even in the afterlife, two ghosts inhabiting this house for all eternity. Once again, scary, but also extremely comforting to know that it's possible to find someone, promise to love them and only them forever, and mean it. Sometimes I wonder if love isn't a strong enough word for what they feel for each other. For what they feel to all of their children, including me.

The same can't be said about my mother, however. She jumps from one man to another, leaving strings of hook-ups wherever she goes. (It's worth mentioning that Dad frequently forgets I'm seventeen and thinks I don't know what "hooking up" means). I never understood why Dad was reluctant to drop me off with her and why he always asked if I was "feeling okay "when I got back from her place. Or why Mom always stared daggers at Natalie and called her horrible things in front of me.

Amber thought she could manipulate me into hating Natalie. She's held off on the name calling as I've gotten older (skank, man-stealer and Whore of a Nanny, just to make a few), but she still tries to bring me to hating Natalie. And not to blow my own horn, but I defend Natalie every time. I love Natalie—I love her like she's my own mother. She feels like my mother.

She's more of my mother than Amber.

I see bits of her in myself as I stare at myself in the mirror. My nose is short and thin just like hers; my hair, thick and blonde, incapable of being tamed; and my figure, our most noticeable similarity, is below average in height and somewhat average in weight. If it weren't for my eyes—my only redeeming quality—I'd be an exact replica of the actress that used to plastered on the cover of every magazine.

I thank every gene that I got Dad's eyes—the inevitable Garfield gene. If only I had inherited Dad's height and, even though it isn't possible, Natalie's physique, including breast size. Maybe if I was Natalie's blood and didn't see Amber every time I looked in the mirror, I can stop comparing myself to Amber.

Maybe I can stop thinking that I'm exactly like the woman that left me behind.