Page 9 of Longing for Liberty
I squirmed, feeling overly emotional and suddenly terrified, considering who I spoke with. Could he read my face? My doubts about what we’d been told?
“Liberty, look at me.”
Oh, God.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes and had to keep myself from jolting at the intensity of his gaze. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in again, and I flushed with heat, wanting nothing more than to sprint far enough away that he could no longer see me and I could no longer feel him. I was breathing too fast. His eyes seemed all-encompassing, like a hunter who’d lured me into a trap.
“I hate that you lost your children that day. And your mother. So many good people, innocent people, were taken.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while never taking his eyes off mine. “I’ve spent every day since then making them pay, and I will continue.”
I swallowed, still trembling, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Did I believe him? No. Maybe in a small way? I didn’t know.
He gave a sharp nod and rested back again. “You’re too thin.”
“Oh?” Another thing I hadn’t expected to come out of his mouth. “I feel…okay.”
“A breakfast will be waiting for you every morning when you arrive. Eat all of it.”
I stared dumbly and blinked before remembering I needed to respond. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
His eyes flitted toward the door, and he cocked his head, giving a jut of his chin. I was fairly certain he was dismissing me.
I scrambled to put my purse on. “Thank you again, sir. God bless.”
“God bless, Liberty.” My name was barely out of his mouth before I was opening the door and slipping out.
I kept myself upright as I hurried to the elevator despite my shaking legs, almost forgetting to leave the basket. I rushed back and set it by his door for the food service workers to collect and refill tomorrow. My heart was still pumping too hard when I got on the elevator, and the doors closed.
I did it.I’d met one of the three most powerful men in the State, and it went okay. At least, I hoped so. And he was going to provide me breakfast, which was really strange, but I wasn’t going to question it too much. He probably didn’t want to find me passed out in his home or something.
As I neared the bottom floor, I let out a long breath and felt myself relax for the first time all day. I slipped into the throng of workers in the lobby, exiting the cool building and letting myself be shuffled along outside into the heat, out of the city center and to the bus lot. In the back of my mind were my three kids. They were always there just under the surface, no matter how hard I tried not to think about them. And I was usually successful until someone asked about them.
God…I missed them so much it was a physical ache, like I’d been hit in the stomach by a linebacker, and then punched in the chest. At moments like this, I didn’t know how I could keep living without them. Only Jer kept me going.
I swallowed down the thickening emotions and climbed aboard the bus, slipping into an open seat and sighing at the throb in my feet. I nearly leaned my head back and closed my eyes until I spotted a young woman standing nearby who’d gotten on behind me. Her posture was stooped while one arm held the bar, and the other was held tight against her stomach. Her face was ashen with the look of someone on the verge of throwing up.
I stood as the bus lurched forward, grasping the always-oily-feeling bar and motioning her to the seat. All young women these days seemed to be in some active state of pregnancy or nursing. She didn’t argue, giving me a quiet thanks before sinking into the seat.
I’d nearly died in my last pregnancy; actually, in all three I had been sickly, but that last one was rough. Still, I remembered those years fondly. Mostly because Jeremy was so doting. He was a dream, running out to get all my cravings, rubbing my back, talking to the babies, making me feel beautiful when I knew for a fact I was a bloated, stinky, swollen mess.
I let myself fall into the soft memories as the bushissedand bumped me side to side.
Summer was my firstborn girl, the typical responsible one who loved crafts and singing. Then my wild child, Rainey, with her pointy chin, just like me, and her love of sports. And our sweet baby boy, Asher, born with a shock of bright red hair.
In my first two pregnancies, I developed preeclampsia, leaving me bedridden for one month with Summer and six weeks with Rainey. With Asher, it turned into full-blown eclampsia. I had a seizure that landed me in the hospital, where I had a series of seizures, even going partially blind and passing out at the hospital when I got up for the restroom at thirty-seven weeks.
I’d been terrified of losing Asher. Jeremy had been terrified of losing me.
At that point, when Roan had just taken office, one year before the war, a bill was passed that husbands had to approve their wives’ sexual health procedures. It seemed to come out of nowhere with little to no press. The news hadn’t covered any opposition to the bill, but I’d seen protesting in Baltimore firsthand, so I knew there was backlash. I also knew a lot of people were being arrested at those protests.
I had a female OBGYN doctor at the time—this was eighteen months before females were outlawed from being medical professionals—who came to my hospital room while I had eclampsia. Her male nurse had stood by with his arms crossed, watching our interaction intently.
“My pregnancies have gotten progressively worse,” I explained to her. “I’d like to have my tubes tied after he’s born.” The male nurse glared at me, making me nervous. “I mean, if Jeremy agrees, of course.” I’d felt angry the moment the words left my mouth. My husband and I had squeezed hands.
“Of course I agree.” Jeremy sounded as angry as I felt.
The doctor had solemnly shaken her head, but the look she’d given me had been laden, like she had a lot of thoughts she was holding back. Her eyes had flashed quickly over to the nurse, then back to me.
