Chapter 4
1197 Words
MARGOT
5 YEARS LATER…
“The other kids were let out a while ago. Why isn’t Bella out yet?” I asked Piama with a furrowed brow, growing impatient as we waited outside the kindergarten school gate.
“Oh no, madam! Bella writes really slowly. I’m sure she got stuck finishing something and hasn’t finished yet. That’s probably why she’s late again!”
I bit my lower lip. Since we were already inside the school gate, Piama and I decided to go straight to the building and find my daughter’s classroom.
I peeked through the classroom window and saw Bella sitting quietly in a corner, staring off into space. “Oh? Why hasn’t she come out yet?”
“Um, excuse me,”
I was interrupted when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I recognized Bella’s teacher right away, so I flashed her a sweet smile. “Ma’am, good afternoon. Is Bella still here?”
“Ah, I knew it! You’re Bella’s mom!” she greeted me cheerfully. “Miss Ashford, I need to speak with you. Could you come inside the classroom for a moment?”
“Of course, Ma’am.” I pulled Piama along as we entered the room together.
As we walked in, I was greeted by the blast of cold air from the air conditioning, which filled the room with the fresh, sweet smell of kids. I couldn’t help but smile as I called my daughter.
“Bella! Psst!” I chuckled as I saw her snap back to reality. She looked around for a second before spotting me.
“Mommy!” she jumped off her small chair and took tiny steps, running toward me. I immediately scooped her up and hugged her tightly.
“How was your day today, baby Bella?”
She squeezed my neck with a tight hug. “I don’t know…”
“You don’t know?”
“Miss Ashford, please have a seat,” the teacher called out to me.
I sat down across from her desk, still holding Bella in my arms.
“Ma’am, did something happen?” I asked, feeling concerned.
The teacher was still smiling, but I noticed a seriousness behind it. “To be honest, Miss Ashford, Bella is very well-behaved in my class. She’s the quietest and smartest student. Even though she’s slow at writing, eating, and moving, she really excels. But my concern is that she often makes her classmates cry. This week alone, ten of them have cried because of her. I don’t want to make this a bigger issue, so I’ve just been talking to her about it. But, the thing is, she’s even said some hurtful things to me during those conversations.”
“W-What?” I was stunned. I gently patted Bella’s back. “Honey? Is that true? What did you say?”
“That her breath smells bad. Teacher’s breath hurts my nose.”
I gasped at her response, while Piama stifled a laugh. The teacher, on the other hand, just shook her head.
“That’s harsh. Teacher brushes her teeth, Bella,” she said, clearly a bit embarrassed.
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry,” I quickly apologized. “I’ll teach Bella better manners. But… is that the only reason she’s making her classmates cry? She doesn’t hurt anyone, does she?”
“Well,” the teacher looked deflated. “Aside from saying hurtful things like calling one classmate dirty, telling another that she looks like Shrek, calling someone stupid, and embarrassing another by saying he had a booger in his nose, she also got into a fight with the boys. She almost stabbed a classmate in the hand with a pencil. Thankfully, I was able to stop her, but if I hadn’t…”
Oh my gosh.
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“Because of what you did, I’m not making your favorite pancakes or mango shake!” I couldn’t contain my emotions as I scolded Bella.
“M-Mommy,” she showed me her cutest, pleading face.
I pinched my palms to keep from softening. I steeled myself even more. “Bella! You were doing fine in preschool so far. You didn’t fight with anyone, and no one bullied you. So why are you suddenly being a bully? Did Mommy ever say mean things to you? No. Did I ever hit you so that you’d hit others? No! So where did you get this behavior toward your classmates and even your teacher?”
“B-But, but I’m just being honest! Honesty is the best policy!” she replied in a high-pitched voice. “You told me to always tell the truth. I only said my classmate had a booger in his nose, and then he started crying. I just said that someone looked like Shrek, and then the others teased him, so he cried. One of them was dirty because he played in the mud! I called another one a moron because he didn’t know the answer to two plus five! And Teacher’s breath really did hurt my nose, Mommy!”
I rubbed my face in frustration. Oh my goodness.
Piama, who had been holding back her laughter in front of the teacher earlier, finally let it all out once we got home.
“And what about what your teacher said? You almost stabbed your classmate with a pencil?”
“That’s true,” she admitted.
“Oh? Why did you do that, Bella?”
“I don’t know why. I forgot, Mommy.”
I frowned and sat down seriously across from her at the kitchen table. “Baby Bella, what you did was wrong. You shouldn’t hurt others, baby. That’s not okay.”
“But…”
“Bella, listen.” I stroked her cheek. “From now on, if you know what you’re going to say will hurt someone, don’t say it. How would you feel if someone told you your breath stinks? Or that you look like Shrek? Or called you a moron?”
She thought about it but quickly shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Wouldn’t you feel embarrassed? Hurt? Annoyed? Or even angry?”
She thought again, then curiously asked, “Mommy, how do I learn to feel things?”
“What?” My concern deepened. “Bella, feelings just come naturally. Like, what if I told you that you’re not really my daughter? That you’re adopted. How would that make you feel?”
She tilted her head. “Am I adopted?”
“What if I said yes? How would you feel?”
She thought about it, then shrugged again. “I don’t know. Where’s my real mommy, Mommy?”
“Ugh!” I let out a deep sigh. “I am. I’m your real mommy.”
“Oh, okay! I want pancakes and mango shake, Mommy!”
“Okay, Bella,” I surrendered to the conversation. “Piama, please help Bella change into her home clothes.”
“Yes, madam!”
I sighed deeply as I prepared the ingredients on the counter, my mind drifting. My daughter Bella wasn’t normal. I had a strong feeling she inherited his father’s ruthlessness. Was that even a condition or what?
- Writer
