Page 108 of Pomegranate Seeds

When we informed New York about what happened, Gabriele went feral. He accused us of not being able to keep his sister safe. I couldn’t answer it. He was right. I failed at protecting her.

Gabriele also wanted us to send Priscilla to New York immediately. He told us she needed to be with her family. Salvatore answered that her family was here even though it was a lie. She had a good relationship with most of my family. They loved her or at least respected her since she was my wife, but they were not her family. I knew she was never going to feel as close to them as she was to Gabriele and Kira.

But despite that fact, she still had a family in Chicago. I was her family.

The last thing I wanted was to send her to New York. I would probably freak out if she was away from me for too long. Yet her well-being was more important than my struggles. So, I told Gabriele that I was going to ask Priscilla if she wanted to go.

She didn’t.

Priscilla told me she wanted to be at our house. She wanted no one but me close. She didn’t want to burden anyone with her sadness. She was too tired to act happy.

I didn’t send her away. I even started working from home. Seeing her like this hurt, but not seeing her at all would hurt much more. I tried to give her affection, and I tried to give her space. I tried everything I could.

For a few times, she facetimed with Kira. At those times, I felt hopeful. Maybe she would laugh again. Maybe she would turn back to her old habits.

Even though I knew it was wrong, I eavesdropped on their conversation. I had to know what they talked about. I had to know everything about her condition.

“I know how it feels to lose a child,” Kira said to her before suggesting she could visit Chicago for her. It made me feel good. I wanted Priscilla to accept. I wanted her to have someone who knew her pain because I didn’t think I was very good at that.

I sucked at everything she needed.

I made everything worse.

Maybe Kira would make her laugh. Maybe she would fix things. Unfortunately, I never got to learn because Priscilla refused. She told her she only wanted her husband.

“I am your family, Priscilla,” Kira said. “I want to help you.”

Priscilla still refused. She told Kira she had a little kid to take care of. It would not be ideal for her to come to Chicago, and at that moment, I realized that was the real reason. She wanted her friend. She wanted her family close, but she didn’t want to burden them.

She seemed to be a spoiled princess on the outside, but she always put others before herself. I hated that. I wished she was greedy. I wished she did everything to get happy.

Her happiness was worth more than any other person’s to me.

So, I tried my hardest. I constantly tried to get her out of bed. I tried to cheer her up, but nothing worked. She didn’t laugh watching her beloved romantic comedies. She didn’t react when I teased her about the smutty books she read.

Since the accident, she had not even once called me by her nicknames. It was always Antonio. Never in my life, I would have guessed I was going to miss being called Cherry-pie or Buttercup.

Priscilla didn’t even take Apollo to walk. He always laid on the bed with her, but when he brought his leash to her, she just turned her back. She was not even willing to get out for her dear puppy.

Every morning and every afternoon, I walked Apollo. The first day we walked together (I didn’t run because he also had some stitches), but my mind was filled up with the reason why Priscilla was not with us. At one point, I just stopped and fell to my knees. Apollo came and licked my cheeks even though there were no tears. I didn’t think I was capable of crying.

Yet he did console me like I was crying, like I was a normal person. I hugged the dog I hated then, and I thanked him for saving my wife. I fucking talked to a dog. But I was truly grateful because if he was not there, Priscilla would have been dead.

The thought suffocated me. It felt like all my fatal organs failed. It felt like dying.

When the doctor came to take out Priscilla’s stitches, her pained face also broke me. I stayed strong, though. I put on my Ice King face. I tried to act like it was okay.

It was not, though. She had scars all over her. The cut on her cheek was not too deep, so it faded, but the side of her neck had that day’s mark. Her arm, her hands, and the side of her abdomen carried scars.

After the doctor left, she told me she wanted a bath, and I gave her privacy. After a few minutes, I heard her cries from the bathroom. She was fixated on the mirror. She was crying. She didn’t even say anything. I pulled her into my arms, and she cried until she fell asleep.

It was the only time she cried, and even that didn’t feel right. She didn’t pour her pain. She didn’t talk to me. She just sobbed and then went to being her ghost self again.

The worst part was the meals. She always had a fucking bad eating schedule, but she enjoyed eating. Now she almost never ate. Sometimes I saw her eating chips or ice cream while watching movies, but she was not fond of real food.

I could tell she had lost weight. I hated that. I hated how her pain was showing off on her body. I wanted to just force-feed her, but that was not the way.

I always suggested cooking meals she enjoyed. She never wanted any of them. She would just tell me that she was not hungry. When she went on for too long, I would push her a little hard, and she would eat to please me or shut me up. She never finished the whole plate. She never ate with that pleasured happy face she used to have.

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