Because of Belle (h.s.)

Part 3

I knock on the door, not wanting to ring the doorbell in the event my daughter is asleep on the couch. The door opens and Faye smiles, my lips curving.

"Come in. She's asleep," she confirms, my head nodding. I step into the home and take in how warm it is. The brick wall connected to a fireplace, wood floors, and a comfort feel when you walk in.

"Have you eaten?" she asks, my eyes taking in my daughter on the couch. Her body is curled up and a blanket covers her, a dog lying beside the couch.

"No. I had a lot of work to do," I explain, her body walking towards me.

"We made pizza. You're welcome to have some," she says, my head nodding.

"I love your house," I tell her, her lips curving.

"It's my brother's. I live with him," she says, my head nodding.

"And his dog has taken a liking to your little girl," she points out, the black lab lying right by Belle.

"Belle has that trait," I say, her hand setting a plate of pizza in front of me.

"She's my favorite at the daycare," Faye smiles, sitting across from me on the counter.

"Now, you're just being bias," I grin, her lips releasing a small laugh.

"No. She definitely is my favorite," she smiles, my eyes taking in her appearance.

"What do you do?" she asks, my hand grabbing a piece of pizza.

"I work at the police station. I file cases into the system," I tell her, biting the pizza.

"So you never have to train and stuff?" she asks, my head shaking.

"But I do anyway. With Belle, I don't have time to go to the gym regularly so I go train with them. It's one weekend a month and my mum watches her," I tell her, her head nodding.

"Was she good for you?" I ask, eating more pizza.

"She was perfect. We, of course, had princess time. I made pizza and then we watched a princess movie. She has braids in her hair, because she said she liked it when her aunt does her hair so I told her I'd do it for her. Just so you know," she says, my lips curving and nodding my head.

"She loves when her hair is played with. Me being a guy, I don't know shit on how to do hair," I say, her lips releasing another laugh.

"May I ask you something?" she asks, my head nodding.

"Yeah, anything," I say, wanting to try and get to know her and to let her know me.

"Is her mom in the picture?" she asks, my lips pursing before I run my hand through my hair.

"No. She...overdosed two weeks after Belle was born. I was eighteen and I answered the door and a social worker practically handed Belle to me. I had no idea my past girlfriend was pregnant and I've taken Belle for tests and everything; she's fully mine," I say, her eyes watching me.

"You didn't care?" she asks, my head shaking.

"I don't know what it is but when you see your child for the first time...I couldn't give her to someone who wasn't her parent. Belle has matured me and I'm not the man I once was. She's my girl and I'll protect her with my life," I say, her lips curving.

"I've never heard a man speak of their child so fondly," she says, my eyes looking at her.

"What about your own parents?" I ask, her head shaking.

"You probably noticed but I'm from America. And I had to get out of the hellhole of a household I grew up in. My parents are clean-cut and neither my brother nor I are that way. I played soccer and he played football, so naturally we got dirty and liked to get the bruises and scrapes. When my brother was twenty, he dropped out of college, woke me up, and we ran away from home. I was sixteen," she says, my eyes widening.