MARC

"Hello!"

"Hello! May I speak with Marc Andrews, please?"

"This is he. Who's this?"

"Hi, Marc! My name is Rick Williams. I'm calling on behalf of Mrs. Aya Waldon. Is it a perfect time to call you now?"

My heart stopped when the voice from the other line mentioned Aya. I've been desperately wanting to contact her. The last time I saw her was five years ago in the cemetery. I deserved the reaction she gave me after that night I left her ten years ago. The night I made the greatest mistake of my life.

"Mrs. Aya Waldon, you said?" A piercing pain crept into my chest, repeating an unfamiliar name for the Aya I know.

"Yes, Mrs. Aya Waldon. She was the Aya who lived with you when her parents died when she was ten. She told me the last time you saw each other was in the Brooklyn cemetery five years ago?"

"Yes, yes. I know, Aya. Is she okay?"

"She is very well. Thank you. She has a message for you."

***

I immediately said yes when Rick told me over the phone that Aya wanted to meet me. However, anxiety replaced my excitement when I agreed to this meeting a month ago. Rick asked permission to leave our table after receiving a message on his phone that Aya was on her way to meet us.

Reality sunk into me. It is my chance to ask for her forgiveness. If she allowed it, I want to explain what came to me that night. The night I left her alone, in tears, begging me to stay. That night has haunted me to this day. The night I made the mistake of letting go of an exceptional woman. A mistake I will forever regret. How can I tell her that the fear I felt when I heard she was pregnant was so intense? I didn't get the chance to think right. Instead, I acted on impulse. I let my fear of being 19, an undergraduate, and a dependent asshole to my parents overpower my love for her. It was too late when I realized what I had done. She was gone when I returned a day after sobering up from deep drunkenness.

There was no trace of her. I kept driving around the same area where I had left her for one month. Hoping to find her, wishing to get her back and bring her home with our child, my child. There was never a day that I didn't think about them. Finally, a year later, my parents told me she had called them. She apologized for leaving without saying goodbye. She thanked them and assured them she was okay.

"Aya called. She just wanted to let us know she was okay. She found an aunt that took her in." These were my mom's exact words. I cried in my room that day. My tears were both sorrow and joy. Grief, knowing that she took my words to heart, left, and moved away. A confirmation that she was okay gave me great joy. At that moment, I challenged myself to better my life so I would deserve her when we saw each other again. I promised myself I would be the best father Aya could give our child. I lived the succeeding four years fuelled by that desire. 

When I am better, I will find you and our child. 

Five years later, I got a call from the gardener I contracted to maintain my parents and her parent's burial site. "A woman is visiting; she is crying." My heart leaped with excitement and eagerness to reach the cemetery in a flash. For the whole 20 minutes that I drove from my office to the Brooklyn cemetery, I only thought of her and imagined her face. 

I will do everything to receive your forgiveness. I promise to win you back, Aya.

When I arrived at the cemetery, I saw her picking up the dry leaves around her parent's tombstones—seeing her overjoyed my heart. My arms can't wait to be around her. I can't believe we were breathing the same air under the same Brooklyn sky. For five long years, I'd been dreaming of that moment. I've wanted to tell her I'm now a better man. I am ready to give everything I have for her and our child. But a painful reality hit me. I was too late. It hit me hard. Someone else was protecting her from me. He didn't give me a chance to touch even her fingertip.

Aya declined to even talk to me. It broke my heart. What hurt me more was when she locked her hands with his. He whom Aya gave the same gaze of love she had for me before. I saw the man's brave and protective stare towards me—his strong but passionate hold on her hand and the deep emotional connection between them. I knew then that I had already lost a battle I hadn't fought. Though it killed my heart, deep inside, I surrendered. Aya deserves to be with the man who did what I failed to do for her five years ago. He stood by her.

Our meeting that day didn't end well. I deserved the slap Aya gave me. I was looking forward to getting information about our child. Or at least a chance to meet them. I felt she wasn't ready to see me with what transpired that day. I understood her pains. But I looked forward to meeting her again. A time when we can talk and listen to each other. I prayed for that day to come.

Today, the heavens answered my prayer. I can see Aya walking toward my table. She is still the most gorgeous and amazing soul I fell in love with. My love for her will never change. As Rick told me, she walked hand in hand with the same man, who is now her husband. Seeing how happy they are together, with their devotion and care for each other, I'm letting go of Aya forever.

***

"Hi, Marc! Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today." She reached out her hand to me.

"I should be the one thanking you, Aya. Thank you for giving me this opportunity." I accepted her hand.

"I've wanted to meet with you again after seeing you in Brooklyn. But, unfortunately, I didn't have any way of knowing how or where to find you."

Seeing her face to face, I felt my heart beating loudly. She will always have a special place in my heart. She still has the same smile, sparkling bright eyes, and charm. Everything about her I once had: she is more confident, braver, and full of life.

"I know. Sorry if I left without talking to you. I wasn't just ready then."

"Believe me, I understand." We looked into each other's eyes. "I'm sorry, Aya. I'm very sorry about everything. God knows how I regretted what I've done. Leaving you and hurting you will be my greatest regret in life."

"It's all in the past, Marc. I've long forgiven you. Thank you for strengthening me. Whatever happened between us somehow paved the way for me to have my blessed life now."

"You deserve all the happiness in the world." I smiled, fought hard to control my tears, and deeply breathed. "I just want to know about our baby."

She gave me a half-smile. If you allow me to meet our child, I'm dying to know him.

"We had a son, Marc. I called him Angel. But God had a better plan for him. He had a congenital heart issue. Unfortunately, he died after I gave birth to him. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything more to save him."

My jaw dropped, my mouth twitched, and my lips trembled. Tears ran down my cheeks. "I'm very sorry. It was my fault. I killed our son." My shoulders dropped as my body weakened in my seat.

"No, Marc. It was nobody's fault. Everything happened for a reason." She held my other hand.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I was so afraid that night I didn't think right."

"I know. That's why I wanted to talk to you today. I want to give you peace. We should forgive each other. Let us free ourselves from our painful past."

"Where did you bury him?" I want to see my son.

"We buried him in Worcester." She removed her hand from mine. She took a small piece of paper from her bag, on which she had written the memorial park address, and handed it to me.

"Here is the address. It would be best if you visited Angel. I have already processed the documents to transfer his remains to a private memorial park prepared for him in our estate in Arkansas. You have up to the end of this year to visit him."

"Thank you, Aya. I'm sorry."

"Visit him. Free yourself. Be at peace. I sincerely wish for you to be happy, Marc."

"Thank you again. I'm happy that you are happy, Aya."

I will forever bear the pain of losing you to make up for my mistake.

"Thank you. I have to go. Goodbye, Marc." She stood up and reached for her husband's hand.

I watched them leave together. Today, the woman I regretted letting go of ten years ago left me behind.

***