Fifty-eight
Our ride home is in peaceful silence as if we fear we will break the tranquillity achieved at the river. Throughout the journey, I can’t help thinking about my first sunrise. People talk about how surreal the experience is and they are right, it’s too perfect to put into words. One of those memories you lock in your heart archives, visit on your bad days.
“Elna.”
Reality sets in, I look to Brandon with a smile. We are home. “You are the best husband ever,” I say.
“You think?” I nod.
The unease in his eyes unleashes a ball of worry inside my belly, I lift myself to his laps to straddle him and his arms circle my waist. Caressing his jaw, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
His smile is nervous. “Are you ready to meet Brianna?” I nod, smoothening the lines on his forehead. We just witnessed a beautiful sunrise, I don’t want anything to take that from us. I lean in to press a kiss to his lips but his unresponsiveness causes me to pull back. He gulps and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You will let me explain, okay? Don’t ask too many questions, okay?” I nod again, though perspiration coats my armpits. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.” He is freaking me out. “If you are scared, I will be worried and stress is not good for our baby.” His eyes shut tight, I massage his tense shoulders for lack of what to do. Kisses won’t work on him now. “Whatever happens, I’ll still love you, I promise.”
“You cannot promise that.”
Joining our foreheads, I whisper, “I promise.” He finally opens his eyes which cloud with emotions too many to identify, my heart thumps, I will it to calm down. “I promise. I will love you no matter what happens, I just need you to trust me and share your burdens.”
“I didn’t think you were ready that’s why I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice raw with pain. Confused by his choice of words, I just nod and peck the top of his head, I will be here for him no matter what happens. “I didn’t know how to tell you. Don’t be so mad at me, okay?” I press another kiss to his lips. “Don’t leave, I don’t want you to leave again.”
“Is she your daughter?”
The seconds until he replies feel like an eternity, his eyes plead with me to love him regardless and I almost scream for him to hold on when his lips part. “Yes.” He lets out a shaky breath, his arms on my weight tighten as if he heard the inner voice in my head telling me to race back to my parent’s house. I inhale, exhale. “Yes. She is my daughter.”
She is his daughter. Brandon. Brianna.
I have always suspected this to be the case but I was too afraid to face my reality. My thoughts merge into a blurry mess of words, making it difficult to form a coherent sentence. I don’t want her to be his daughter. God. My husband has a daughter. Taking deep breaths, I close my eyes and exhale slowly. I promised to still love him, I promised.
We maintain our position until I peck his lips and laugh at the relief that floods his face. I wish I can share in his joy. But my emotions are tangled in a web of confusion. Daughter.
“I still love you,” I murmur. “You are still the best husband.” I nod when doubt creeps into his eyes, my heart constricts. He has a child, a daughter. It shouldn’t affect me and my unborn child negatively, he cares for us. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His gaze rakes over me, I offer him a smile. I cannot identify what I feel but I am not mad at him. Maybe, I am, a little because he kept it a secret. With Brandon, lines blur. I never want to pass judgement without understanding him or the reasons for his actions.
“She’s sick, really sick,” he says and I nod, we have established this. “It wouldn’t have made any difference.” My eyebrows shoot up. “I am sorry. No one knows about her.”
“Sophia does,” I retort. And he nods. It hits me now. “She’s her doctor.” He nods. “Okay.”
He tilts my head to get a view of my face, I fiddle with the hem of my sleeve. “Just okay?”
The disappointment in his tone amuses me, I laugh. I don’t know how he expected me to react. Maybe when I have processed the news properly, I might scream at him or run. For now, it feels like I am on autopilot and the best move is nodding. So, I nod again.
Disbelief etches on his face, he lets out shaky breaths, his fingers run through his face so many times I have to pull his hand away and say, “Well, I kind of understand you.”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I give him time to recover from his shock. A kiss on his nose follows, another one lands on his lips. “God. You are too good for me,” he says.
A frown swiftly replaces my smile, he grimaces. “If you say that again, I’ll be mad.
“I won’t, wifey. I promise.” With a smile, he bops my nose. “Do you want to see her?”
I nod. “Do you want to carry me up?”
Lost in our little world of happiness, I smile when our eyes collide, it is easy to notice everything about him. The slight rise and fall of his chest, the flushing of his cheeks and the wisps of air that escapes his lips which part to say, “I’m nervous, I might drop you.”
“You won’t.”
His laughter is loud and sinister, I almost take back my words when he grins. He won’t drop me, right? That gleam in his eyes say otherwise but I am not backing down. I am quiet as he carries me past the door of the hall, the hall where I heard opera music.
The deep frown on his face stops me from querying him when we enter his office, he lowers me gently. Too gently. A faraway look blankets his eyes when he pushes a thick red book on the shelf of his mini-library positioned in a part of the room that dispels all interest in it due to its location and poor condition like the owners forgot the books.
It is the picture I see first when the door hidden behind the shelf of books open. The portrait that graced the wall. I understand it now, the scribbling looks like that of a child because it was made by a child. Brandon starts for a bed I notice now, beside it is an IV connected to a child. A girl. My eyes pop at the sudden realisation, is that, is that her?
I tuck a braid behind my ear, taking slow steps towards the bed as if afraid to wake her. I know he said she was sick but I didn’t expect her to look this pale. White skin like a vampire, chapped lips, hair done in messy pig braids. Sparing a look around, my heart squeezes. The machine beside the IV looks like equipment straight out of a hospital.
Brandon stands in front of her bed, his rigid figure casting a shadow on her lithe frame swallowed by the bed. Tucked under a thin bedsheet, it is difficult to estimate her height or weight. Brandon sighs but doesn’t touch her, his fingers hover over her forehead. For some reasons, I feel like he has done that multiple times. I cough, he tears his gaze away from her to smile at me and my eyes lower to my flipflops. His gaze is too intense. Sad.
I don’t like it because it breaks my heart.
“So, this is Bri. Elna, meet Brianna. She would have said hi but as you can see, she can’t talk,” he says with saddening laughter and my eyes raise slowly. “She is in a coma.”
My knees wobble, I sink to the edge of the bed, stretching out my hand to him because I have no idea what else to do. Thankfully, he takes it and I create space for him. He settles down beside me, we stay that way in silence until he lowers his head to my laps.
“Sophia thinks I’m delaying the inevitable by holding on. She wants me to pull the plug.” I sink my fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp, tracing his neck and his open skin. “I don’t understand how that’s fair. We never got a chance together and...it’s my fault.”
I want to remind him every bad thing that happens isn’t his fault but that feels like the wrong move so I continue stroking his neck. When I finally muster the courage to speak, I ask, “How old was she when this happened? What happened? How did she get here?”
“Bri was four when the accident happened but she turns nine in December. An accident.” He scoffs, my heart slides to my stomach. “Was it really an accident? Was it?” I don’t get a chance to speak because he sits up and holds his head in his hands. “She was just a kid. I was supposed to be there for her and I failed. I failed her, El. Every day I get up to do whatever I want while my daughter is here wasting away on life support. I don’t believe in miracles but every day for the last five years I have prayed for one. It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, a pathetic plea.
Bringing his head to rest on my shoulder, I run circles on his arm. “You don’t understand. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t have been in the car. It’s why I don’t want kids, I don’t want a case of another Brianna, I will not be able to handle it.” I start shaking my head but he doesn’t want to hear me out. “When you are as much of an asshole as I am, people will go the extra mile to hurt you, even if it means hurting those close to me.”
“Brandon, that doesn’t make you the asshole, it makes them the asshole. If anyone will go as far as hurting a four-year-old child, they need to be locked up in jail forever.” I cup his face, sucking in my breath at the tears gleaming unabashedly in his eyes. I need to be strong for us but his pain is too raw for my eyes to remain dry. He’s hurting. A tear rolls down his cheek to my palm, I sniff and choke on a sob. “Baby, I’m sorry you had to go through this alone.”
“I had Sophia,” he teases and I manage to laugh at his poor joke after smacking his head. “Don’t cry, I don’t like it when you cry.” I nod and hurriedly wipe my wet cheeks, he has said that statement so much it’s almost a mantra. “Do you agree with Sophia?” His eyes take on the earnest look a child would after a promise to Disneyland, I swallow the lump that lodges in my throat. “Do you think she will be okay?” He blinks. “Please, be honest.”
“I don’t know.”
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