Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  “And most of all, thank you to my producer, my partner, my husband-to-be, and the love of my life, Ezra King. I love you more every single day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for seeing more in me than I ever saw in myself.”

  She blows me a kiss and the dam breaks. Cole nudges me as a tear rolls down my cheek, but I could care less about his ribbing. I’m marrying the woman I love, making the music I want to make, and building the life I’ve always wanted. Life couldn’t possibly get any better, and all it took was just a little touch of gold.

  Want to read more about Liam, Gwen, and the rest of the crew from The Den? Then check out my Madison Square series.

  Alex & Drew- Somewhere in Between, Book 1

  Sean & Madison- Choosing Happy, Book 2

  Liam & Gwen- Chance at Redemption, Book 3

  All available now on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

  For other books by Samatha Harris, be sure to visit www.samathaharrisbooks.com for more information on current and upcoming releases.

  Samatha Harris Acknowledgments

  This story was a challenge in and of itself, and I have some people I’d like to thank for helping me to pull it off.

  To Amy Marie, thank you for believing in me enough to ask me to be a part of the fractured fairytales. You are so fantastic, and I look forward to seeing you every year at SASS.

  To my good friend Maria Vickers. Dude, I owe your crazy ass big time. As per usual, you coached me through. Urging me to keep going and telling me I could do it even when the deadline felt impossible. You are my favorite cheerleader, and I love you!

  To Carolyn LaRoache, you always have my back and help bring out the best in my writing. Thank you for always having my back.

  To my husband. Thank you for picking up the slack so I can make time to write. Thank you for bringing me pie and supporting this crazy dream of mine.

  To Becky, my editor. Thank you for helping me turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse. God knows you had your work cut out for you, but you helped me immensely.

  Finally, to all my readers. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. It’s been a while since my last release.

  P.S. My daughter Ava wants you all to know that I love her, and she does karate.

  Part Nineteen

  Stolen Love: A Garrison Society Story by Sidonia Rose

  A Maleficent Retelling

  A Note From Sidonia Rose

  It’s important to remember that life is a journey. At every turn, at every decision, we choose the path that we follow. At times these decisions lead us to happiness, while others lead us to sorrow. Along the way we can choose to make peace, or we can make war. Still there are other times in life when we don’t know which path to choose or which direction to turn. These are the times that we depend on the people around us to help with these decisions.

  Those that walk our journey with us can have an influence on each of us and our choices. The words that we hear, the things we see, the actions that play out around us all have an impact on us. All of those things will trigger us to be happy or sorrowful.

  The happy times are filled with butterflies, rainbows, and the occasional unicorn for each of us. The joy in our life energizes us as we celebrate in the feasts of life.

  The times of sorrow are more likely to find us hiding in a cave from the world, or raging like a fire breathing beast to wipe out our enemy. These are the dark times in our life, just like nighttime falls each day, so will the dark times of life touch each of us.

  This story is neither happy nor sad. The journey is filled with days of joy and times of sorrow. Sometimes it’s difficult to number the friends that we have, often it’s easier to calculate the number we have lost. The art of asking for help has been lost on this journey, the burn of deceit will leave you blistered like the rocks sitting in the desert. There’s no need to cry, this is just the beginning of the journey.

  For after this, the path to be followed will be a maze to explore. There have been many that have blazed a trail for us. They have worshiped at the alters of bliss and happiness, while others have perished in the tears of deceit. There are signs all around us to lead us into the temptation we seek. Beware of the well-worn path that many have followed for it leads to a swamp of much and despair.

  Travel with caution through these pages. For just as the story of Briar Rose was told, even the best intentions of those that love us will be unable to protect us from life itself.

  If you opened these pages looking for a happily ever after, you are in the wrong place, my friend. If you are expecting a story filled with light laughter, singing, and fun parties. This is not the place for you. These pages are filled with the happiest of days, while also seeing the darkest of nights. This story doesn’t have a happy ending. See it’s not about finding the perfect mate. No, that’s not what this story is about. This story is about greed, fear, and most of all jealousy. They do not make for good bedfellows, you see.

  If you have an interest in knowing the deepest, darkest secrets that no one talks about, then you might be in the right place. In these pages, the world will crumble, but like times of the past there will be a chance for new growth. Darkness and despair are ahead, you’ve been warned, but you’re still reading. This is your last chance to turn back for after this there’s no turning back.

  "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

  George Santayana

  Chapter One

  Malinda

  After a long day at work, the last thing I wanted to do is go to the grocery store. The offerings from my kitchen are always sparse the week before I get paid. That means that whatever day I get my paycheck, I always have to stop at the store on my way home. One of these months, I’ll find a way to get ahead.

  Pursuing a career in social work isn't glamorous. It's quite the opposite, actually. The hours are long, the pay is minimal, there are days I'm forced to take actions that I don't agree with, but there are days I'm able to help a child or a family. Those are the days that make me want this career. Those are the days I know I’m doing the right work.

  Today wasn't such a good day. Early this morning, I received a call about a family that I've worked with for the past few months. A few years ago the family fell on hard times. The father lost his job, the mother worked part-time, but the home life of the family deteriorated quickly. After a few months the family started receiving state aid, and it didn’t take long before the father left his family. The mother was alone with three preteens. Today one of those kids was found in an alley, and it's presumed that he accidentally overdosed. The mother is now in the hospital and I had to place the other children in emergency care for the night. Today my heart has been wrenched from my chest. I don’t see a happy ending for this family.

  Using my key to unlock my door, I gently push it open, hoping that my cat doesn’t try to escape tonight. Somehow my cat thinks that after a long day at work, I want to chase her around the neighborhood. The last time she got out, it took me a week to find her.

  Setting my bags down, I flip on the light as I lock the door. Turning, I search for my cat. She’s nowhere to be seen, so I call her, "Hali!"

  She's a fickle cat. Usually, when I get home at night, she's either waiting by the door, or she's not interested in me. Since she didn't try to escape when I opened the door, it must be my night to be ignored.

  "Hali?"

  Growing up, I always wanted a cat. We lived outside of the city, not a farm, but beyond our backyard, there were woods with lots of space. We usually had a stray cat prowling through the woods, but none of them ever seemed to venture into our yard. My mother would tell us to stay away from the cats because they were dangerous. They were good at keeping the mice and snake population under control, but I never thought of them as dangerous. That changed one summer when my brother was attacked by a cat. If I hadn’t seen it happen I would never have believed his story. To this day, he has an awful scar on his leg from being bit.

  Once
I moved into my own place, the first thing I wanted was a cat. In college I volunteered at a local animal shelter. There seemed to be an endless supply of cats at the shelter. Almost every week, someone would show up with a fresh litter of kittens they found in their yard. The shelter always had dogs that needed to be walked, but it was working with the cats that kept me coming back to the shelter each week.

  When I could finally get a cat, the shelter didn't have any. My schedule as a social worker was brutal for the first few months. There were a lot of long days and many of my weekends I was assigned to monitor the visitation of a minor child or some other problem would pop up that needed attention. As the new person I was always called in first for these assignments. Sadly, that didn’t leave any time for me to volunteer at the animal shelter. With my schedule full it was a few months before I had time to get back to adopt a pet. Ideally, I wanted to adopt a cute little kitten. The shelter, of course, didn’t have any cats, kittens or otherwise. They had a lot of dogs, no puppies of course.

  After leaving my information, it had taken a few weeks before they called to tell me that I could stop and get a cat. I had my heart set on a grey kitten, but that wasn’t what happened. After another long week at work, it was late on a Saturday afternoon when I was finally able to get to the shelter. The litter of kittens had been popular and the last remaining cat was a black kitten. The idea of a black cat scared me until the man working told me about the cat. She had been the smallest of the litter. When people had come to see the kittens she had hidden from them. It wasn't until I had arrived that she was finally ready to be seen. She sat at the cage door until it opened, and then she bolted into my arms.

  The idea of owning a cat had been a fantasy for so long that I was thrilled when she jumped at me. It's possible I should have waited for the grey kitten I wanted, but this one stole my heart right away.

  I named her after one of my favorite places, Halifax. After high school, my family had traveled to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to visit my father's family. Although it was summertime, the weather had still been cold. My family loves the cold weather, that's probably why we live in Wisconsin. We spent the better part of a month visiting family that summer in Halifax. My cousins had a fishing boat and we spent many days out fishing with them. Even though my father’s family didn’t seem to accept me, it was still my favorite summer. I loved the cool weather, being out in the boat, I even loved the fishing.

  After turning on the oven, I put away my groceries as it heats up to the right temperature. Placing a fresh piece of salmon on a tray I sprinkle my favorite seasonings before placing it in the oven. Setting up a cutting board I begin to slice vegetables for a salad.

  Dividing my salad into portions, I'm anxious to be finished for the evening. It could be my lucky night and I’ll be able to relax and watch a movie or even better go to sleep early.

  As the timer on the oven signals that my dinner is ready my phone rings at the same time. Oddly, my phone rings on a weeknight. Usually on Saturday night, I meet my friends for dinner or drinks. No one calls me during the week, mostly because work keeps me too busy to do anything else. So it’s either a work call or my mother calling me.

  Walking to the other room, I retrieve my phone from my bag to answer, "hello?"

  The pause at the beginning of a call is never a good sign. If there's anything I believe in are signs. My heart sinks as I hear my supervisor's voice, "Hello, Malinda, I need you to go to the emergency room at the county hospital. We have a six-year-old girl, Britton Hilliard; her mother died about an hour ago. The hospital has no next of kin for the child."

  My day has just gotten a little longer today.

  Chapter Two

  Britt

  Mom hasn't been feeling well again. She doesn't think I remember, but when I didn't have school for Christmas, she wasn't feeling well then either. She said we could celebrate Christmas any day we wanted, Jesus doesn't mind when we celebrate his birthday.

  Last summer, mom taught me how to make the special Jesus birthday cake. She said that when we mix the cake, we have to be careful to always have good thoughts. It's important to remember when Jesus was born, but it's more important to remember the stuff he wanted people to taught from him. Er, I mean the stuff he wanted to teach people. Mom says that people are taught, and that's how we learn. My teacher at school, Mr. Augustine he's a good teacher. He taught me lots of stuff, like how to read, and he lets me draw pictures when I finish my work before everyone else. Sometimes the other kids make fun of my drawings though, that makes me sad.

  The nice nurse at the counter keeps watching me. She let me have two suckers while the doctors are talking to my mom. She says that if I eat another one, I'll get a tummy ache.

  "Brittany, dear, do you need to go to the bathroom?"

  She's so nice. Except she keeps calling me Brittany, and that’s not my name. I tried to ask her to call me Britt because my name is Britton, not Brittany. She’s been watching me extra close so she must have seen me do the wiggle dance. Mom says it's not something we should talk about, but sometimes when I wiggle she knows I need to go to the bathroom.

  "Does you have a little girl too?"

  The nice nurse walks from around the counter as she smiles at me, "No, but I recognize that dance you were doing on your chair. Let's take a walk down that hallway and see if the bathroom is open."

  Jumping down from the chair, I look to the room that my mom is still in, "Can't I use the one where my mom is? I'd like to see how she's doing."

  The nurse looks a little sad as she says, "I'm so sorry, baby girl, but there's not a bathroom where your momma is."

  That doesn't seem right. When mom was coughing, they told me to wash my hands in the bathroom. The nurse takes my hand as I hop from tile to tile, trying not to step on the cracks, "Ok."

  After I use the bathroom, we take a long walk. When I ask the nurse about the other people sitting in chairs with wheels, she whispers to me, "A lot of people are here because they are sick. It's probably not polite to point at them."

  "My mom says pointing isn't nice."

  The nurse looks sad again; maybe she's not feeling so well either. We get back to my chair, and there's someone else sitting there. That lady doesn't look happy either; maybe she's here because she's sick too. The nice nurse must know her because she looks happy to see her.

  Looking around, I don't see any other chairs I can sit on. It's just the one, two, three, four chairs next to where the nurse sits. There's already someone else sitting in the other chairs, and the woman with all the papers is sitting in the chair where I was sitting. They'll probably tell me to sit on the floor. It’s ok; my mom will be done soon.

  When we are close to the desk, the woman in my chair stands up, "Hello, I'm Malinda Williams from the social services office. You must be Britton Hilliard."

  The woman looks right at me as she says my name, "That's me." In case she doesn't know I point to the room where my mom is seeing the doctor, "My mom is still seeing the doctor, so I was waiting here. You can sit in my chair."

  The nurse lets go of my hand as she says, "She had a bag when she came in, let me grab that for you."

  The woman reaches her hand out to me like I should go with her, except I don't know her. It's probably time I go back to where my mom is, she must be done seeing the doctor by now. When I see the doctor, they ask me questions, and they never stay very long. The doctor has been with my mom a long time.

  "Britton, I'd like you to come with me."

  This doesn't seem right. My mom doesn’t know her, and that means she's a stranger. As the nurse comes back with my bag that mom said I should bring with me, there’s a policeman with her. The policeman that came to my school said they help people, but on TV they always arrest people. Maybe I was bad, and they are going to arrest me.

  "I want my mom!"

  The woman in my chair says, "Britton let's go into this room and talk about your mom for a few minutes."

  "No!" She should take me to my
mom, I don't want to go with her. "I want my mom!"

  Mom says we have to stay together. It's just me and her, and we need to help each other. I always put my stuff away because that's how I help. Even after we have dinner, I sometimes help her put away dishes, and I put the butter in the refrigerator all by myself.

  Wanting my mom, I run to the room where she's seeing the doctor. The place that she was before, she isn't there now. She was on the bed but now she's gone. Where did she go? Is she looking for me? Maybe I shouldn't have left with the nurse.

  Turning around I run back to the desk and call her, "Mom! Mom! I'm here, Mom!"

  All the grown-ups are talking, but none of them are getting my mom. The woman from my chair has my princess backpack, and she's walking to the room she wanted me to go to with her. Maybe that's where my mom is waiting.

  As I follow her, she looks back at me nodding. I'm still scared and I can't find my mom. Behind me the police are walking with his hands on his belt.

  Following the woman into the room, I look for my mom. She's not here. Needing to find her I turn around as the police close the door.

  Crying, I don't know why they want to arrest me, "Can I go get my mom?"