AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Marie finally takes a sip of her milk. “The only thing she told me is that the two of you desperately wanted a child.”
“Iwas the one who wanted a child,” I say. “My wife… not so much.”
“This is a personal question, but I’m dying, so I get to be nosey: why marry her at all?”
I hesitate. “Maybe you should talk to Laila about this.”
“I’m talking toyou.I want to know. Especially since my daughter is still determined to let you adopt her baby despite all the changes. She must like you.”
That’s one word for it. If Laila were here, she’d have thousands of others to offer up instead.
“Adoption” doesn’t feel right, either. That’s not what this is. It’s too cold and bureaucratic to explain the strange feelings I have for the woman curled up on my couch. That word doesn’t cover how it felt to make that baby with her. How it feels every time my skin touches hers even now.
Marie takes another long drink, and I can see the wheels in her head turning. As she places the glass on the counter, she makes a decision. “I know my daughter, Mr. Adamov?—”
“Arsen,” I correct. “Please.”
“I know my daughter, Arsen. Laila puts on a brave face. She always tries to do the right thing. She’s as independent as they come.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”
Marie reaches up to stroke a finger over her scar. “But it’s a mask. A form of self-preservation. She’s sensitive, deeply vulnerable about her insecurities…”
“I’ve noticed that, too,” I say. “She’s ashamed of her scars even though she shouldn’t be.”
Marie tenses. “She told you about her scar?”
I’ll probably pay for this little bit of honesty later. But what the hell? We’ve come this far.
“I’ve seen it myself.”
“Hm. She’s private about her injuries. If she’s shown you, she must trust you.”
“She is giving me her baby,” I point out.
“I know why she’s doing this,” Marie scolds lightly. “She doesn’t think she can take care of me and the baby at the same time. She feels like she doesn’t have another choice.”
“Your daughter is a strong woman. She knows what she’s doing.”
“How can she? She’s never had to give up a child before. She’s mortgaging her future to take care of me for a few short, unhappy months.”
“She’s not going to regret taking care of you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I run a finger along the edge of the marble countertop. It’s cool and hard to the touch, which I’m grateful for, because nothing else in my life feels quite as solid now. “I’ve been where Laila is. I lost my mother years ago, and I never regretted anything I did for her. That’s the benefit of having a good mother: she did anything for you, so you return the favor in kind.”
Marie’s hands curl around her glass absentmindedly. “How did she pass, if I may ask?”
“Cancer.”
“Did she suffer at the end?”
“Very little. We lost her quickly.”
Marie nods, the edge of her orange scarf lolling over her collarbone. “That’s what I’m hoping for: quick and easy. I don’t want to suffer, and I don’t want Laila to watch me wither away,either.” She sighs. “I’d hoped that, after the accident, we’d hit our quota of bad luck in one lifetime. Seems not. You start to wonder if there’s an end to it or if rock bottom is just a thing people make up to comfort themselves.”
She’s quiet after that. So am I. We sit there in the darkness of the kitchen, two people who never should’ve crossed paths, breathing and brooding, both of our thoughts with the tortured woman in the living room.
