Key To My Heart (Love Conquers All) Read online

  Key To My Heart

  A Novel

  Victoria Wells

  Heart 2 Heart Publishing, LLC

  Key To My Heart

  Copyright© 2010 by Victoria Wells

  Key To My Heart is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. For information contact Heart 2 Heart Publishing Rights Department, P.O. Box 48186, Philadelphia, PA 19144

  Other Titles by

  Victoria Wells

  A Special Summer

  When Love Comes Around

  Dedication

  Dominic (1928-2006) and Rose Nicolosi, thank you so much for loving and accepting me into your hearts and into your family. I love you both so much.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you Lord. Your mercy is never-ending.

  To my family and friends, I so appreciate all you’ve done for me. This journey would have been impossible without your love and support.

  A special shout out to Moments of Joy Book Club in Portsmouth, VA. You ladies have been with me from the beginning. I so appreciate the mad love you ladies have shown me.

  To the wonderful ladies of Sister to Sistah Book Club in Philadelphia, PA. I’m still on cloud nine from our book discussion. Thank you so much for the warm welcome and support.

  Finally, to all the wonderful readers who have shown their support. I thank you from the depth of my soul. I can’t even describe how your kind words of encouragement lifted me when my spirit was torn down. I truly thank God for you.

  Peace and Blessings,

  Victoria

  Victoria Wells resides in Philadelphia with her husband and three children. She has a Master’s Degree in Nursing and works as an adult nurse practitioner caring for adults with sickle cell disease. Victoria enjoys reading, writing, knitting, volunteering, and hanging out with family and friends. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at [email protected]. Please take a moment to visit her website at www.victoria-wells.com where you can join Victoria’s Yahoo and Facebook groups and subscribe to her newsletter.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, Ava struggled to wake from the endlessly taunting nightmare. Her restless body stirred and twisted, wrestling to keep the painful memories at bay.

  The wailing cry of the healthy newborn pierced her trembling heart. What had she done? The question ricocheted throughout the corners of her mind as weary eyes followed the nurse who quickly wrapped the squirming babe and left the delivery room.

  Noooo! Please, come back! I changed my mind! I want my baby! I want my baby!

  Ava bolted from the nightmare. Her nightgown was drenched in sweat, making the thin cotton fabric stick to her skin. Taking in deep gulps of air, she covered her face with her hands. Tears fell from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks despite her tightly shut lids.

  The nightmare always ended this way. It always ended with her screaming for her baby. Unfortunately for Ava, this nightmare was all too real.

  On the day Ava gave her baby up for adoption, she pleaded with the doctor and nurses to see her baby. They refused. Without an ounce of compassion, she was told it would be for the best that she didn’t bond with her baby. When she tearfully begged to at least be told the sex of her child, each of the healthcare workers remained silent as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

  So what if she’d foolishly made the decision to put her child up for adoption. Did that mean she didn’t have the right to know if she gave birth to a girl or boy? What gave them the right to withhold this information?

  Finally one of the nurses, who couldn’t ignore Ava’s anguish, gently whispered to her, “You had a little girl. She weighed six pounds, five ounces.”

  After Ava was settled in a room on the maternity unit, desperate to get a glimpse of her daughter, she shuffled down the hall to the nursery. She didn’t know which pain was more devastating—the aches in her freshly post partum body, or the shredding of her heart into a million tiny pieces.

  Tears followed the thick lump that formed in her throat as she realized none of the babies behind the glass sleeping so peacefully belonged to her. Three of them were baby boys, snuggly wrapped in blue blankets. The last one—baby girl Wu—contentedly suckled a pacifier in her sleep.

  Reliving that gut wrenching afternoon exhausted Ava. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Wiping tears from her face with the palm of her hand, she placed unsteady feet on the floor.

  After stripping off the damp nightgown, she padded over to the bureau on the other side of the room. Opening the third drawer, she pulled out a yellow nightshirt and covered her nude body. Before closing the drawer, her hand blindly searched in the dark for her most precious possessions.

  Taking slow, measured steps, her hand trembled as she hit the light switch on the wall. Holding on to her possessions with one hand, Ava used the other to shield her eyes for the few seconds it took them to adjust to the blinding light.

  Moving back over to the bed, Ava slowly sat on the edge. Ever so carefully, she opened the first Ziploc bag, removing its content. Ava brought the tiny undershirt to her nose. If she inhaled deeply, real deeply, she could still smell the scent of her precious baby. Holding the soft fabric to her face, she said a prayer for the woman who had showed her some mercy.

  “Please, Ms. Peretti, I’m begging you not to tell anyone I’ve done this. You understand I could lose my job?”

  Ava numbly nodded her head. The hurt she was feeling was so deep her tongue had become paralyzed. This was all too much for her to take in. How could he do this to me?

  The middle-aged nurse hesitated, looking over her shoulder and double checking that the door was firmly closed. Bringing her hand from behind her back, Ava noticed the two small, clear, plastic Ziploc bags she held. Coming closer, the nurse kept her voice soft and gentle. “I just felt so bad for you. After your baby was cleaned up and dressed, I went back to the nursery and took off her undershirt.”

  Gingerly sitting next to Ava on the hospital bed, she continued. “And I clipped a lock of her hair for you.” Sadly smiling at Ava, the kind, older woman placed the baggies in Ava’s trembling hands. “Your baby has a beautiful head of thick, dark hair.”

  The kind woman didn’t mean any harm, but hearing her refe
r to the infant as “your baby” further crushed Ava’s heart and spirit. She just wanted to die. The sob she released sounded like that of a wounded animal caught in a steel trap. Nothing could compare to this hurt, not even Langston’s betrayal.

  Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Ava tenderly folded the tiny undershirt before laying it on her lap. Ever so carefully, she opened the other clear bag and removed the lock of hair, gently twirling the delicate strands between her fingers.

  As she made the only connection she had with her daughter, Ava’s chest tightened to the point where breathing was almost difficult. She wanted her baby back. She had an innate feeling that her baby needed her.

  Chapter 1

  Seven-year-old Zoe Warrington ran excitedly through the foyer of the immaculate Georgetown townhouse. The white sheet of paper she held in her tiny hand waved in the air like a flag on a warm, breezy day. She had to find her daddy. She had to tell him that she’d gotten another 100 percent on her spelling test.

  Zoe giggled as she ran. Mrs. Garrett, her second grade teacher, had put a shiny gold star on the top of her paper. You only got one of those when you spelled all the words correctly. Her daddy had promised her that if she got another good grade on her spelling test, they’d go out for ice cream. Zoe had studied really hard because she loved going out with her daddy. He was so silly. He always made her laugh.

  The navy blue Mary Jane shoes she wore skidded on the highly polished hardwood floor as she came to an abrupt stop. The small child’s body almost collided into the looming, imposing figure that stood before her.

  All merriment left the child’s countenance as she stared, frightened and wide eyed, at the angry face glaring at her.

  “Hello, Grandmother,” Zoe whispered, hoping she hadn’t made the elderly woman angry again.

  Beatrice Warrington’s angry glare remained fixed on the child. She couldn’t stand the sight of her. Nothing of this child resembled a Warrington. Even her coloring had been tainted by that half-breed mother of hers. Every time Beatrice looked at Zoe, she could only see the tramp who had tried to ruin her family. If she had her way, the little bastard would have been in Connecticut with the couple who had wanted her.

  “Why are you running in the house like a wild animal?” Beatrice angrily snapped.

  A confused look marred Zoe’s innocent features as she gazed at her grandmother. The only time she ran in the house was when she was looking for her daddy because she had something really important to tell him, like now. She wanted to tell this to her grandmother, but when she went to open her mouth, fear paralyzed her vocal cords.

  “Answer me, you little dunce!” the older woman shrieked, moving in on the defenseless child.

  Dropping her head, two fat crocodile tears fell from her huge, dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”

  Why doesn’t Grandmother like me? Zoe wondered as she held her head low, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

  All her friends at school had grandmothers that took them to see the Nutcracker at Christmastime, and to the zoo in the spring. Their grandmothers enjoyed teaching them how to bake cookies and put frosting on cakes. But all Zoe’s grandmother did was yell and spank her when her daddy wasn’t around. Nothing she did made Grandmother happy.

  Zoe let out a yelp when Beatrice reached out and roughly yanked her by the shoulder. “You’re always sorry. Just like that mo—”

  “Mother,” the deep baritone voice rumbled in a threatening tone. Langston’s jaw clenched as he pierced his mother with a steely glare. “Zoe, come here,” he commanded in a gentle tone as he held out his hand.

  Once she was near the safety of her father, Zoe flung her arms around his waist, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Daddy, for running in the house.”

  Langston held the trembling child close as he tenderly stroked the top of her head. “It’s all right, Love Bug.”

  Disengaging from the embrace, he kneeled down so that he was eye level with Zoe. Taking a white handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he lovingly dried his little girl’s tears. When another large tear rolled down her cinnamon check, he shot his mother a harsh glare.

  Her response was a haughty lift of her chin as she rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath.

  Picking up Zoe, he held her close again, soothingly rubbing her back. “Stop crying, Love Bug,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “But…Grand…mother—”

  Langston stopped Zoe’s stuttering by placing a large finger against her tiny trembling lips. “What did Daddy say?” he asked.

  Zoe’s eyes nervously averted to Beatrice’s rigid form before looking into her father’s warm, dark eyes. “You said I didn’t do anything wrong,” she softly whispered, afraid her grandmother might hear.

  Playfully tweaking her nose, Langston confirmed, “That’s right. Now give me a big hug.”

  Zoe smiled through red, puffy eyes. She loved her daddy. He was always so nice to her. Every day when she came home from school he was in his home office waiting for her. And in the evenings usually just the two of them had dinner together, although sometimes Mr. Charles joined them. After dinner her daddy would help her with her homework, and then they’d pick out her clothes for school before she brushed her teeth and took her bath. When her bath was done he’d read her a bedtime story. And sometimes he would let her read to him.

  Wrapping tiny arms around Langston’s neck, the paper in her hand crumbled as she squeezed him tightly.

  Hearing the crumbling paper, he asked, “What’s that? A little mouse up your sleeve?”

  Letting go of his neck, Zoe giggled. “You’re so silly, Daddy. It’s not a mouse. It’s my spelling test. I got a gold star.” Zoe beamed, any indication of her sobbing from just moments before instantly disappearing from her face.

  Langston struggled to keep his anger in check. His smile was tight and didn’t quite reach his eyes when he smiled at his daughter. Zoe had been running to show him how well she had done on her test. Yesterday morning he had quizzed her as his driver and butler, Charles, dropped her off at school, and then dropped him at his downtown office. His mother had yelled at his daughter, who had only wanted to share her excitement with him. The thought of how she treated Zoe made his blood boil.

  “Love Bug, you did a wonderful job,” Langston said after giving her a kiss on the nose. He then set her down on the floor. “Go upstairs, Zoe, and change your clothes. Tonight we’re going out to celebrate.”

  “To Friendly’s, Daddy?”

  “Wherever you want to go, Love Bug.”

  “OK, Daddy. I’m going to my room now to get ready.” The child squealed in delight, skipping out of the room.

  Beatrice watched in disgust as Zoe skipped off. A little cunning wench. Just like her whorish mother.

  Chapter 2

  The second Langston was certain Zoe was out of earshot, he angrily addressed his mother.

  “Didn’t I tell you never to put your hands on my child?” Langston’s tone came out razor sharp. Last year when Zoe was six, he became aware that Beatrice had begun to beat Zoe. The beatings always occurred while he was away on overnight business trips and Zoe was left in Beatrice’s care.

  Langston finally learned of the abuse when Zoe’s headmaster contacted him. Zoe had arrived to school upset and crying, and when her teacher went to touch her arm and comfort her, Zoe yelled out in pain. Concerned, the teacher ushered Zoe down the hall to the nurse’s office. After the adults were able to coax Zoe out of her sweater to inspect the source of her discomfort, both the nurse and the teacher gasped in horror. The small child had bruising on her arms, shoulders, and back that was clearly the result of being hit multiple times with a belt.

  After hearing of his daughter’s abuse, Langston abruptly ended his business meeting and was on a flight back to his home in Georgetown as soon as possible. Although his mother was very strict with Zoe and didn’t seem to have much patience with her, Langston never believed she would
physically harm her own grandchild. When the headmaster assured him that he would not report the incident to the authorities because of the family’s status in the community, Langston, for the second time in his life, cursed the fact that he was a Warrington.

  That night when he arrived at the home of his parents and witnessed the evidence of the abuse, something inside him snapped. It had taken his elderly father’s tearful, slurred pleadings to calm him down as he threatened to press charges against his mother for abusing his daughter. The elder Warrington was already fragile, and with each passing day withering away. Pressing charges would have surely sent him to the grave that night instead of four weeks later.

  Now Beatrice let out an indignant huff, remembering Langston’s warning last year. She wasn’t going to hit the little brat, just give her a good shaking. The child was spoiled rotten, rotten to the core. A good shaking wouldn’t kill her. That son of hers had no idea how to raise a child. He let her get away with too much.

  “Langston, you spoil that child something awful. She has no business running through this house like she’s in the projects somewhere. But I suppose the little thing can’t help it. Look who bred her,” Beatrice hissed, eyes slit so severely they were nearly closed.