Page 33 of Unbreak Me

Oddly enough, this small, trivial conversation about everyday life filled me with a strange kind of pleasure. It gave me a glimpse into a peaceful, country life.

Carrying other people’s children in my womb, often living in their mansions, feeling like an intruder and then like something unnecessary—an incubator they discarded the moment they left with the baby… That had been my life before. From one child to the next, following different diets imposed by the parents—some wanted a vegetarian baby from the start, others insisted on pumping me full of vitamins. My body wasn’t mine; it was ‘rented.’

With each birth, I lost a piece of my soul. They’d take the baby in their arms and stop looking at me. They’d leave the hospital without so much as a goodbye, let alone holiday greetings. Unnecessary. That’s how I felt once I’d served my purpose.

Now I wanted… an ordinary, even boring life. Talking about wood chips and packing shipments, smiling as the tasty Penny Bun mushrooms sizzled on the pan. The kind of daily routine I could have with Jan. And what might seem to others like a very dull existence… was, in fact, my dream life.

The question remained: Was Ireallyready to start it?

JAN

The change in Day over the next week was noticeable. The man I’d met in the glass booth with the sour expression and hostile gaze had disappeared, replaced by someone different—though still not exactly cheerful.

He turned out to be even more taciturn than I’d initially thought, especially during meals.

Sometimes, he’d sit at the table with his elbow propped up, a cigarette in his other hand, his steel-gray eyes fixed on the rolling hills behind the house, covered with young trees from my nursery. His expression was distant, contemplative.

Often, he’d absently fiddle with a small pendant he always wore around his neck.

Those moments gave me a chance to observe him. His narrow jawline and thin nose, the blue veins under the translucent skin of his temples, the fragile wrists. The longer I stared, the more details I noticed—the delicate curve of his chin, shaped like an upturned triangle, the long tendons in his thin neck, his small ears, and the absolute lack of vivid colors on his cheeks, likely due to his constant smoking. A haze of ashy smoke often surrounded his face, and his lips would purse into a small 'o' as he exhaled.

I found myself wondering what he thought about during those moments, staring into the distance with overcast-gray eyes.

He seemed to be aware that I was observing him, and in a way, he let me—almost like those were strange sessions when he presented himself to me, silently saying,It’s how I am; look, but don’t disturb my musings…

But I finally did.

Once, I worked up the courage to ask him. He flinched then slightly, clearly not expecting such a personal question—maybe almost too intimate.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and avoided my gaze. "I’m thinking about the past. I guess I do it too often, but sometimes it just happens. I can’t stop it."

I hesitated, fiddling with his lighter, which lay on the table between us.

"Are they… sad thoughts? Unpleasant ones?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, his hand drifting automatically to the pendant around his neck.

"Mostly. Also, moments where I made silly choices. Sometimes they haunt me every day. They’re relentless, and I can’t forgive myself for doing things that now seem so stupid."

I wanted to ask what exactly he meant, but didn’t have the guts to do so. We weren’t that close. Not yet.

Later that evening, as I passed Day’s room, I noticed the door was open. He was tidying his closet and didn’t see me. My gaze drifted to his bed.

Fuzz and Milky were curled up on one side, but the middle of the bed caught my attention. A small nest had been constructed—partly from his belongings, partly from the materials I’d given him, though he chose the most neutral, calm colors.

Nevertheless, I felt a wave of relief. Day had built a nest! It wasn’t large—a one-person nest—and it had high edges, a clear sign of insecurity. Still, it was better than if he hadn’t made one at all. The nest exuded unease—Day was walling himself in, seeking safety. But I chose to see positives in this—that he’d used some of the materials I’d picked out for him.

Suddenly, Day turned and caught me staring at the bed. Silence fell between us. I knew better than to say anything—it would be highly inappropriate.

Clearing my throat, I managed to murmur, "If you need more closet space… just let me know. There’s a spare one in the second guest room."

"No, this one is plenty spacious," he said, holding a few T-shirts. I nodded and quickly backed away.

But one thing stuck with me—he hadn’t used my sweaters in his nest. They were neatly folded on the chair.

I wasn't that surprised; we were still in such early stages of getting to know each other. Leaving my clothes there was a deliberate move on my part. Maybe it could be interpreted as being a bit insolent and too forward, but I had made up my mind to build our future. I wanted him to understand how serious I was about our relationship—that I was open to being a part of his life. That was my signal to him.You are welcomed in my world.Whenever he felt ready, the doors were open.

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