146

[REBECCA]
Exiting the room, a mix of emotions played on my cheeks, manifesting as an uncontrollable smile. Our return to the living room found Lynda and others waiting with bated breath.
“Well?” Lynda inquired eagerly, her excitement palpable.
Locked in a shared understanding, Artemy and I exchanged a glance before his proud declaration cut through the suspense, “A princess.”
Lynda’s delight erupted in a squeal as she enveloped me in a hug. Nona’s fond smile radiated warmth as she joined in the embrace. “Congratulations, my dear. You’ve gifted us with a princess, a precious addition after so many years.”
Her hug soon transitioned to include Artemy, while Lynda remained by my side, still beaming. “I’m overjoyed, babe,” Lynda expressed with heartfelt sincerity.
As her embrace released me, I couldn’t help but notice the men engaged in a fervent dispute nearby. Leon’s smirk was directed at Brayden, his words imbued with a confident assertion. “Hand over my money.”
Brayden’s retort was heated, infused with stubborn resolve. “No way! It’s a boy, I’m telling you. Rebecca, go back in there. Claire’s mistaken. It’s a boy.”
“No, it’s a girl,” Lynda interjected fervently.
“It’s a girl,” Artemy affirmed, aligning himself with my conviction.
With a smug grin, Leon pushed the wager further, taunting, “Five thousand dollars, Brayden. Don’t chicken out.”
Wait, they had actually placed a bet?
I shook my head as I observed Brayden’s intense glare directed at Leon. In contrast, Avim, typically silent and brooding, displayed an uncharacteristic half smile this time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Howard and Damian emerging from the gym. Damian abruptly halted in his tracks upon seeing me. His gaze shifted to my stomach before averting his eyes.
Artemy enveloped me with his arm, drawing me closer to his chest. When Damian and Howard neared us, Artemy cleared his throat, signaling a momentous announcement.
“We’re expecting a baby girl,” Artemy declared.
Damian froze, his face contorting with a mixture of emotions. There was a moment of pain in his eyes, a glimpse of sorrow that tugged at my heart.
His fists clenched, and without uttering a word, he turned and walked away. Artemy let out a sigh beside me. I gently pulled away from Artemy’s embrace, feeling a deep need to follow Damian.
The thought of his pain weighed heavily on me. The scars of losing his wife and daughter were still fresh; he carried their memory with an enduring ache. If it were possible, I wanted to alleviate his suffering.
Artemy’s grip tightened on my arm, detaining me. “Let him go, Angel.”
“I need to do this, Artemy. Please,” I implored, my gaze trailing after Damian as he ascended the stairs. With a brief smile, I slipped my arm from Artemy’s hold. “I’ll be alright.”
After placing a tender kiss on Artemy’s lips, I followed Damian’s path. My steps faltered as I stood before his bedroom door. Nervousness tinged with determination caused my hand to tremble as I raised it to knock.
No answer followed my knocks. Time stretched on. Finally, I pushed the door open and peered into the dimly lit room, cast in a soft glow by a bedside lamp.
Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me. Damian sat at the edge of the bed, cradling a framed photograph. Sliding next to him, I settled onto the bed.
A heavy silence enveloped us. Now present in his space, I found myself grappling with the right words to soothe his pain.
Breaking the silence, he spoke, his voice laden with fractures. “You remind me so much of my Celia.”
His words carried a broken quality that resonated deeply within me. “She was like you-gentle, beautiful, and sweet.”
His fingers caressed the frame, a wistful touch. The photograph, as I discerned, depicted a woman-presumably Celia.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my gaze falling to my lap.
He reached into a drawer and procured another image-a sonogram. He handed it to me, indicating the form of the unborn child within. “A princess, just like you.”
Tenderness and empathy surged within me as my fingers traced the sonogram. His loss resonated painfully in my heart.
Handing me the frame, he whispered, “This is my wife.”
His use of the present tense struck a poignant chord. Celia, even after years, remained his wife.
Studying the picture, I discerned Artemy’s eyes in her gaze. “She’s truly beautiful.”
“The most beautiful,” he agreed, a soft chuckle escaping him.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss. Celia and your daughter deserved none of this. The pain you’ve endured is heart-wrenching,” I admitted sincerely. “Perhaps they’re in a better place now, watching over us.”
“Do you really think so?” he questioned, his voice wavering.
“They’re like guardian angels,” I reassured, my gaze resting on the photograph.
A tear dropped onto the picture, and it was then that I noticed Damian’s tears. “Celia loved you deeply. She wouldn’t want this suffering for you. Honour her memory by finding happiness. I believe that’s what she would have wished for.”
A heavy silence enveloped us, casting a tense atmosphere that seemed to tighten with each passing moment. My fingers fidgeted with the delicate fabric of my dress, betraying my inner nervousness. After an extended interval, the weight of the quiet was broken by his voice, finally cutting through the stillness. “You sound so much like her.”
Caught off guard and unsure of how to formulate a response, I slowly rose from my seat. It was at that very instant that the infant princess stirred, as if orchestrated by some cosmic design. Perhaps it was a convergence of destiny, but in that singular moment, a deep-seated certainty took hold within me.
Leaning down, a deliberate motion, I gently clasped Damian’s hand. His head snapped up, surprise etched across his features, his gaze locking onto mine. With a deliberate but gentle motion, I guided his hand to rest upon my abdomen, precisely where our unborn child was engaged in a joyful dance of life.
A sharp inhalation escaped him, his countenance crumpling as teardrops traced a path down his cheeks. The photograph he had been holding fell onto his lap, soon to be joined by his other hand as he stifled any inadvertent emotional outpouring.
The resemblance to Artemy struck me forcefully at that moment, the intricate parallels between father and son becoming vividly apparent to me for the very first time. In that vulnerable instance, Damian revealed himself as yet another soul bearing the weight of unhealed fractures.
A solid kick from within my womb sent a pang of discomfort through my side, a reflexive wince escaping my lips. “She’s strong,” Damian uttered softly, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.
“Just like her papa,” I responded, a genuine laugh bubbling forth.
“And her mother.”
His unexpected acknowledgment resonated deeply within me, a swell of emotion causing my heart to flutter. A radiant smile illuminated my face as the tiny life within me continued its playful dance.
“Damian,” I began, my voice carrying a blend of sincerity and urgency, “I understand that you may harbor reservations toward me, but this little princess here-she needs her grandfather. You were denied the chance to meet your own princess, but I implore you, do not avert your gaze from this one. She is equally precious.”
As if in agreement, the baby’s movements intensified, her little fists pummeling into Damian’s awaiting palm.
“If you wish, you can play a role in her life. I won’t ever stand in your way. Please, don’t evade this opportunity, this connection,” I implored, my words seeking to bridge the emotional chasm.
Damian remained silent, the weight of the moment elongating. Eventually, the motion within my belly subsided, his hand sliding away to rest upon the photographs on his lap.
I waited, anticipation mingling with apprehension, for his response. Just as I began to step away, his voice arrested my movement.
“I would like that.”
A surge of emotion cascaded through me, my hand instinctively finding its place over my stomach, as if shielding the burgeoning life within from the outside world. Could you hear that, my precious Princess?
“I never had the chance to cradle my own princess. But I want to hold this one.”
His words carried a sense of finality, a confirmation that rippled through the air like a tender whisper. “I believe she would welcome that as well,” I murmured, my voice an embodiment of hope fulfilled.
***
I stepped out of the room, leaving Damian to grapple with his thoughts in solitude. I held onto the belief that he would find his way through. The presence of the little princess had injected a renewed sense of hope into our hearts.
Leaning casually against the wall, Artemy awaited me just beyond the room’s threshold. With my exit, he drew me into an embrace, offering a haven for my emotions.
My tears flowed against his chest as sobs wracked my body. Amidst my fragile state, I managed to whisper, “He’s going to be okay, Artemy.”
In response, Artemy remained silent, becoming a steady pillar of support as he allowed me to release my pent-up anguish. As the tide of my tears receded, I lifted my gaze and tenderly pressed a kiss over his heartbeat.
Feeling somewhat composed, I mustered the courage to propose, “Shall we take a walk by the creek?”
His smile held warmth and reassurance. “Of course, let’s go.”
Hand in hand, we descended the stairs, and I exchanged a brief wave with Lynda before she vanished into the kitchen.
Our saunter towards the creek was unhurried, a leisurely journey that spoke volumes without requiring words. The tranquility of our companionship was a language in itself, a testament to our deep connection.
Upon reaching the creek’s edge, I settled onto a rock, allowing the cool water to envelop my feet. Artemy positioned himself behind me, his hands finding rest upon my shoulders.
As I traced gentle circles on my pregnant belly, I posed a question laden with curiosity, “Are you happy?”
Artemy’s reply was intimate, his lips grazing my ear before planting a tender kiss. “I’m more than happy, Angel.”
Intrigued by his prior inclination towards the baby being a boy, I pressed on, “You always referred to the baby as a boy. Are you content that it’s a girl?”
His pause made me apprehensive, a tension building within me. Eventually, he breached the silence, his lips brushing against my ear as he confessed, “I’m happy.”
Relief cascaded over me, his subsequent words carrying my heart to new heights of contentment. His voice held a mix of emotions as he unveiled, “I think deep inside I always wanted a princess. After losing…” He let the sentence linger, its unfinished nature pregnant with shared understanding. “I was just scared to hope. But when I heard it’s a girl, I felt like my heart flipped. It paused, just for a moment. I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”
Leaning into his embrace, I tilted my head to meet his gaze. “I’m happy too.”
Artemy’s smile was like a sunrise, illuminating his face as he pressed kisses to my forehead, my nose, and finally my lips, sealing our emotions in a tender connection.
The idyllic moment was shattered by an unexpected interjection. A voice sliced through the air, a stark contrast to the harmony we had been basking in. Dread knotted within me as I recognized the voice, and the world seemed to come crashing down.
“No need to feel guilty for interrupting such a sweet moment.”
Time seemed to freeze, and a sense of numbness enveloped me. Panic surged, overwhelming my senses.
That voice.
It couldn’t be happening again.
Not now.