Page 72 of His Wife

“Of course. I will be back in a few days to check on you. For now, just keep the bandages dry.”

“Is everything healing okay?” I ask, joining them.

“As well as expected,” the doctor replies, straightening his sleeve. “It’s going to leave a scar, but once the tissue has healed properly, see what the scar looks like, then we can talk about surgery to try to remove most or even all of it.”

“That’s good news. Right?” I touch Mira’s elbow, and she smiles at me.

“It is. But let’s see how the scar turns out first.” Her voice is soft, but her pain resonates through. My heart breaks for her. Like it wasn’t enough to be held hostage by a psychopath, she’s now left with a scar as a reminder. Every time she looks in the mirror, she’s reminded of the ordeal she went through. I can’t begin to imagine the level of fear she had to have experienced that day. When she told me what he said to her, how he blamed her beauty for his sickness, having her life teeter at the sharp edge of his knife, it sent chills down every bone in my body. My stomach still churns just thinking about it.

The doctor disappears around the corner, and I turn, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? I know it’s a dumb question, but I’m asking it anyway.”

“I’m fine.” She touches the bandage on her face. “It hardly hurts anymore.”

“I’m not referring to that.” I give her a half-smile. “I’m asking ifyou’reokay. You. Not your scar.”

Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath as if something as simple as breathing seems to exhaust her. “I am. It’s just the um…the nights when I’m alone that my mind starts to work overtime, you know? But the doctor gave me something to help me sleep.”

“That’s good. Your mind needs to heal, too.”

“Yeah. Have you seen Nicoli?” Her dark brown eyebrows curve. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

I purse my lips. “No, I haven’t. He hasn’t been around much lately, has he?”

“No.” The lines on her forehead are furrowed with worry. A little sadness. “I can’t help feeling like he’s avoiding me.” She shrugs. “Well, more than usual. God, he’s such an asshole for jumping through that damn window. He could have killed himself.”

“Mira, he helped save your life by risking his. He could have hurt himself a lot worse than just a cut down his eye.”

“I know he risked his life, and that’s why he’s an asshole.” She glances up and down the hall, fidgeting with her fingers as she looks at me again. “The thought of something happening to him is far worse than the memories of what happened to me. My heart stops every time I think about it.”

“Oh, Mira.” I move in for a hug, wrapping my arms gently around her shoulders, gliding my hand down her silky blonde hair. “He’s fine. Nicoli is fine, and so are you. That’s all that matters. And I’m sure Nicoli’s just been preoccupied with dealing with the aftermath of everything.” I take a step back. “Alexius hasn’t been around much either.” I place my palms on my stomach. I’ve been doing it a lot lately, even when my thoughts aren’t occupied with babies and swollen bellies.

“You’re right.” Mira’s red lips curve at the edges. “The brothers do have a lot to take care of, I guess. Listen, I’m going to check on Alexius’ mom. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Definitely.”

“Great.”

“Mira?” I call after her, and she stops to look my way. “I’m happy you’re okay. I would not survive this place without you.”

This time her smile does reach her eyes. “You would have been fine without me. I’m telling you, a time will come when you rule these ancient halls.” She holds her arms wide and twirls on her feet, chuckling. “It’ll happen. You’ll see. But my guess is you’ll be running after those two down here first.” She points at my belly and winks before strolling in the other direction.

Running after two kids? My God. I can’t even fathom the idea of two babies growing inside me. Thinking about them running down these halls one day is daunting, and I’d be the world’s greatest liar if I said it doesn’t scare the living shit out of me. After my total breakdown at the doctor, thinking I’d be the worst mother ever, and Mira trying to talk some sense into me, the doubt still lingers. At night, while I listen to Alexius’ rhythmic breathing next to me, staring at the moonlight sneaking through the tiny gap between the curtains, the panic would set in. My mind would race with thoughts of crying babies, dirty diapers, and the unbelievable knowledge of being responsible for a life. Two lives. Two babies utterly dependent on me as their mother, relying on me to keep them safe and to give them a life filled with love and joy, to give them the security I never had.

I want to be a good mother. But I’m so damn scared. What if my childhood, my mother, broke that part of me—the part where nature takes over, and motherhood would come naturally? What would I do then?

Panic slowly creeps in from my ribs to my lungs, and I inhale deeply, pushing the thoughts out of my head, reminding myself there’s time to adjust. Time to work through our family's unplanned expansion and work on myself to ensure I be the best mom these babies could ask for.

I make my way down the stairs, headed to the dining room, when I find people walking in and out of the foyer, a giant Christmas tree placed in the center. There are people hanging ornaments and lights. Men trim the green branches to create the perfect shaped tree. The smell of freshly cut pine and crisp nature paints a picture of snow, hot chocolate, and a warm fireplace. It makes me think of magic and presents, the gingerbread houses I saw in the windows of bakeries my mom and I would pass on our way to the store. Children would walk out with fancy pink and white striped cake boxes, the sweet, sugary smell of cake and cookie dough wafting from inside the bakery every time the door opened and closed.

At night when my parents were asleep, I’d lie awake and think about families opening presents with laughter and thankful hearts—images I’ve only ever seen in newspaper ads and movies. My dad didn’t believe in holidays. He said it was an underhanded way to extort the human population into buying things they couldn’t afford. Now I know it’s because he’d rather use the money for drugs and whores than buy his only daughter a gingerbread house with a roof decorated with round candy wafers and square gum pieces.

I’ve lost out on so many chances to build fond memories, stories I could have told my kids one day. But there’s no use wallowing in the past. Nothing can change it. It is what it is, and all I can do now is ensure that my kids have a far better childhood than I could ever dream of.

Alexius comes up behind me, snaking his arms around my waist and leaning his chin on my shoulder. “I swear the trees get bigger every year.”

I lean back, closing my eyes as I inhale, appreciating his familiar, comforting scent of earthy sandalwood. “It’s going to be beautiful,” I say as the decorators walk past us with gold baubles, silver stars, and large white snowflake ornaments. “It’s my first Christmas tree.”

I feel Alexius stiffen behind me. “You’ve never had a Christmas tree?”

---