1995
“All forces come in pairs” according to Newton’s Third Law of Motion. When two objects come together, they exert equal and opposite forces on each other.
To my mind, this describes my relationship with Cassie. She is the only one that can make me do things out of the ordinary, crazy things. We’re two elements that have come together, and somehow we balance each other out. I keep her grounded, and she helps me fly.
A perfect fit.
“What about this one?” Cassie pulls a short, loud, colorful skirt from the rack. Totally not my style.
“No.” Pursing my lips, I shake my head. “Really?” My eyes narrow on her. “You know me better than this. Come on, Cassie. We have a schedule to keep if we want to visit all the stores on our list. We compromised, remember?”
She sighs dramatically. “You have to live a little. This is just one teeny-tiny change. You can do it.”
My eyes remain on her, an eyebrow raised in speculation. She really does know me better than this.
“Ugh,” she harrumphs. “Fine. But don’t shut me out, okay?”
“What now?” I’m afraid to ask, knowing that tone of voice. Nonchalantly, I go back to searching for new school clothes. New, sedate, dull, medium-length school clothes that call my name. “I’m not going to another party with you. Like, ever again,” I inform her.
“No.” She touches my shoulder to get my attention. “Well… yes… but hear me out. Okay? There’s this guy—”
“No,” I cut her off, not needing to hear anything else. No guys. Ever. I have a plan, and they don’t include guys. Or dating. In whatever manner.
“Wait,” she cries, grasping my arm as I try to move away. “He’s really cute. Like really cute.”
“No.”
“Come on… please.” She smiles at me.
I shake my head. Never going to happen.
“Don’t say no,” she pleads. “It’s a new year. You’re seventeen, for goodness’ sake, and you’ve never been kissed, much less had a boyfriend.”
“I’m well aware of that, Cassie. And I’m fine with it that way.”
“Please… he’s the new kid. Come on, take pity on him. I mean, he’s cute, and he’s hot, like really hot. Like boy band hot. His eyes are green, and his hair is like caramel. He’s tall, lean, and he has this smile. He’s delicious, and I just want to lick him up.” She sighs, her eyes getting this dreamy look.
“Okay, then. You take him.” I wave at her. Problem solved in my opinion. If she thought he was so “delicious,” then she should be the one going after him.
“But he looks at you. He likes you, and he thinks you’re nice,” she whispers to me loudly.
I look at her, chin in, eyebrow raised. A look I always seem to be giving my friend. She’s exasperating at times, but a relief to my overly planned life. My gilded cage prison in which suffocates me at times.
“Yeah, I know. Right?” She chuckles. “You.” She points at me. “Nice?” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. However, the smile doesn’t lessen the pain it makes me feel, despite knowing she doesn’t mean it that way. But I can’t help it. Not the way I look, the way I act, the way things make me feel.
“It’s that whole ice princess thing you have going on,” she continues. “That cold shoulder you give all the guys. It puts you on a pedestal, making you unattainable, and some guys eat that shit up. Makes them feel all high and masculine if they get a smile out of you.”
“I’m just me.” I sigh. “I don’t get how he can like me. He doesn’t even know me.”
“Well, give him a chance,” she replies, her voice gentle and encouraging. “You never know what can happen. Maybe he’s your ‘one,’ the one that’s going to change your world forever and bring you your forever after.”
Her naïve dream makes me laugh. No prince will ever try to breach the walls that surround me.
“You’ve been reading too many romance novels and watching too many romance movies. And what about my parents?” Suddenly, all pleasantness is lost, knowing well that they will never approve of a relationship they didn’t arrange. Especially one in which Cassie is pushing me toward. They still don’t approve of her, but since her father still has friends that may help my father, my mother tolerates her. My father is much too busy to be interested in the minute details of my daily life.
“Easy.” She shrugs and turns back to the clothes. “You keep it a secret. Just like you’re going to keep that tattoo you and I are getting as soon as you turn eighteen.”
“What tattoo?” Cassie never fails to surprise me.
Call it rebellious, or maybe I’m as naïve as Cassie to believe in a prince, but a secret I kept it.
For months, Cassie helps me lie to my parents, telling them that I am spending time at her house, having dinner with her family and their friends. She goes as far as naming some pretty heavy names that my mother can’t say no to. I even think my mother is envious of me because they aren’t invited, and to invite themselves would be too forward. Plus, my mother’s attitude hasn’t endeared her to Cassie’s mother, so she stays far away.
The perfect opportunity for our crazy plan.
During one of those dinners, Cassie managed to get his family to come over for dinner. Apparently, their fathers are family friends. Unlike Cassie’s father, his father went the enlisted side, a high-ranking man within his ranks and respected because he cares more about his Soldiers than advancing his career. And his mother, her voice is divine.
“So…” He sits next to me on the couch after dinner, nudging my thigh with his. “Cassie managed to pull this off.”
I turn and look into soft emerald eyes. So gentle and sweet.
“Are you okay?” Gently, he takes my chin, leans forward, and brushes his lips lightly against mine. Every look he gives me, his eyes twinkle, his smile is bright, and his kisses are so sweet. Much like a prince in a fairytale romance. With every tender touch and every kiss he bestows upon me, my body and heart hunger for more. He’s an escape in my emotionally lacking, loveless world. With just being, he brightens everything up.
“Yes.” I can’t help but smile in return. My eyes look into his, and a warm feeling spreads through my chest and downward. He makes me feel things I’ve never experienced, and I fear that I’m falling in love. With him I feel comfortable, cared for, and the few times I’ve acted less than normal, he just smiles and gently squeezes my hand, letting me know it’s okay. He doesn’t expect anything from me. “I… I”—I turn away, to the living room wall, ashamed—“I hate doing this to you. The hiding, I mean. I know you want to meet my parents, but you have to understand that they’re different.”
“How?” He interlaces his fingers with mine and lifts my hand to his lips. “Make me understand.”
I shift my body in his direction and bask in his attention and simple caress.
Can I trust him to understand the pressure that I’m under? The expectations? This, what we have, as much as I love being around him, I know will not last. My parents will put an end to it as soon as they discover our relationship. And I know I’m not strong enough to go against them.
“They will never approve of us.”
He smiles and lightly shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. I know my parents better than I know myself.” My voice is firm and confident in at least that statement. One thing I’ve learned in my short life is that my parents will never change. They will never be accepting. They will never love me like other parents love their children. I’m a means to an end, and I’ve come to terms with that. Just like I know people won’t understand.
“Don’t give up on us before we’ve faced our first challenge. We might surprise you and your parents might surprise you.” He gently squeezes my hand in encouragement.
I smile, but inside I wilt because every moment spent together goes into a treasured memory slot hidden within me. At the same time, I feel sorry for myself and envious of his life. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Life is full of surprises. Right?”
He takes my head and lays it on his shoulder. There’s nothing more we can do except be proper around the adults. With his other hand, he plays with my hair, and his touch sends good-feeling tingles down my spine, awakening a sensation deep down that frightens me.
A need for something… more. A desire. A hunger for more than his touch.
But nothing can come of it. For as long as I have him, I’ll treasure every moment.
As I sit there in his arms, I pray for a miracle to keep him in my life. Aside from Cassie, he’s the first one to ever show me I’m worth more than being my father’s daughter.
No, no, no, no! I shake my head frantically.
I look down at my hand, desperate, terrified tears stream down my face.
Please, God, no, I beg, closing my eyes.
Those tears are now uncontrollable sobs. In this moment of truth, my only blessing is my parents’ absence; they are out running errands, and for that reason, I took this time to check. That sick, knowing feeling I have felt in my gut these past few days, that feeling telling me change was about to happen, was spot on.
I toss the object on the bathroom sink counter and bring my fisted hands to my forehead. Moving backward until my back hits the wall, I slide down until I can go no more. The room is getting smaller, the air thicker, and breathing is becoming harder. The lights dim, and the ball in my stomach grows with every second that passes.
I feel ill, emotionally and physically.
This is all my fault. How could I let this happen? How could I have been so careless?
I made one choice.
I took one chance.
Just fifteen minutes and my life changes forever.
My fingers fist my hair, gripping it tight, hoping to distract myself with the pain. I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling. My parents are going to explode. My mother, my father… they’re going to kill me.
Enclosed in my tiny bathroom, my sobs are loud as they bounce off the walls.
Dear God…
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The unexpected knocks startle me. My parents must have returned.
Frantically, I stand up.
“Darling,” my mother calls through the door. “Open the door. I have such wonderful news,” she gushes and the doorknob rattles beside me.
“Coming,” I call out, trying to sound as calm as possible.
Quickly, I grab a small hand towel from the holder, wipe my face clean, and throw it on the sink counter. I make my way to the door, hearing something clatter on the floor, but I’m too focused on answering the door, so my mother doesn’t suspect anything amiss, that I pay it no mind.
I must act normal. I have to figure out what to do. I have to tell someone… Cassie. Yes, I need Cassie’s help.
Semi-composed, I open the door, and my mother’s smiling face greets me. As I grow older, I’ve come to notice her smile doesn’t hold the warmth I once thought it did. She’s cold, unfeeling, and manipulative.
“Hi, honey.” She moves to step inside, but I quickly step forward and intercept her.
“Mother.” I smile and try to close the door behind me, but my mother is too close. It is left slightly ajar.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s my stomach. It hurts… my monthly.”
She smiles and nods in understanding. She never bothers me when I’m on my courses because I was “blessed” with her terrible periods—long and severely painful ones. And God forbid she shows me the tiniest bit of love.
“Oh, yes. That monthly evil. It hits us to remind us we are women.” She reaches for my face, as if to cradle my cheek, but instead slaps the door open behind me, sending it crashing. “Or it lets us know when we’ve been naughty.” Her eyes go from serene to angry in a flash. Her emotions are volatile, and I’ve learned to stay away from her thrashing tongue. “You’re lying.”
She pushes me aside and storms into the bathroom. Her eyes scan the room carefully, taking everything in.
“Mother, it’s nothing,” I plead.
My hand is on my stomach, praying she finds nothing out of the ordinary. My father runs into the room, and I feel nauseous.
“Is everyone okay?” he asks, out of breath, probably having run to my room. “There was a loud crash.”
“Father.” I turn to him, my eyes begging him to intervene but not knowing what to say. What can I say to him that will shield me from my mother? I’ve done the unspeakable, and he’ll be furious.
“What happened?” He reaches my side and cradles my cheek—a surprising gesture.
“You little—” my mother cries out and roughly pulls me away by my arm.
“Anna!” he calls out, surprised. He grabs a hold of my other arm and pulls me away from her. “What is going on with you? Let her go. Now.” He pulls harder.
She lets go, stands up straight, and looks him in the eye. “This is between our daughter and me, Lucian. I kindly ask you to step out while we have a discussion for our ears only. Please leave the room. It’s a delicate situation.” She gives him a look I can’t decipher.
“No.” He looks at me and then at her. For a second, I fill with hope.
“Lucian,” she says calmly and steps toward him. “I told you she’s been different. More emotional than usual. I found some things in the bathroom. Harmful things, and I’m afraid for her. As her mother, I think it’s best for me to—”
“No.” I grab my father’s arm. “There’s nothing in there.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” My mother turns to me and lays a hand on my shoulder. Inwardly, I flinch because she’s lying. “We will talk, and everything will be okay. I will take care of everything.”
“But I’m not—”
“Lucian, you know sometimes they lie to get their way.”
I shake my head as my father looks at me. His jaw clenched, he swallows and blinks repeatedly. He doesn’t say anything to me. Instead, he looks at my mother with shimmering eyes. “Help her, Anna. She’s our daughter.” Then he turns and walks out the door.
What is my mother doing? Why did she lie?
The click of the door closing resonates like a prison door slamming shut on a life sentence.
My mother turns to me, her face no longer composed as it had been when my father was here. Instead, it’s contorted in a scary expression.
“You had one responsibility,” she grits through her teeth and holds up her index finger. With every step she takes toward me, that feeling that something terrible is about to happen increases. “One duty to our family. To our name. To our dream. One—” Her hand strikes out like lightning and slaps me.
Hard.
The force sends me tumbling onto my bed. For a brief second, I’m frozen in shock—she’s never hit me this hard—before I recover and push myself up with one arm to look at her, my throbbing cheek cradled with my other hand.
“Why?” I whisper in disbelief. My mother—the always-composed, forever-up-to-social-standards, and “What will people say if we act like trash?” mother—has never acted this way. This violent. She would never risk laying a hand on me in such a manner that would leave a mark. “Why did you lie?”
“Pregnant,” she spits out in disgust, ignoring my question. “You’re pregnant! You’re nothing more than an embarrassment. Do you have any idea what it will do to our family? To your father? Who did you spread your legs for?” she growls and grabs my hair. I try to move out of her grasp, but she holds tight and pulls me up from the bed—her strength surprising me. “Disgusting.” She yanks my hair. “Vile.” Yank. “Worthless.” Yank.
She pulls my hair with such force that my neck goes back, and I strain to look at her.
“Mother,” I plead, grabbing onto her wrist with both of my hands, trying to lessen her grip on my hair. “You’re hurting me.”
“Good.” She tightens her hold on me and pulls my hair harder before throwing me onto the bed once again. Her chest rising and falling fast from her exertion, she steps back a couple of steps and runs her hands through her hair. “Who else knows?”
Her soft-spoken question surprises me and makes me flinch. She’s become someone I don’t recognize. How can this woman be my mother? Has she always been this way?
“N-no one,” I answer and take the opportunity to get up from the bed and move to the other side, putting as much distance between us as possible.
“Good. And no one needs to know. We can still fix this. No one has to know…” She looks at me, lost in thought. Then she starts to pace back and forth across her side of the room.
Nausea hits me with such force that I need to place a hand on my stomach to steady it in an unconsciously protective manner. The feeling is so terrible, I’m afraid I will fall and spew whatever contents are in my stomach all over my carpet.
“What are you talking about?” My question is a mere whisper.
She continues on, ignoring me.
“I’ll take you to a clinic, an anonymous one, and we’ll take care of this little problem.” She stops, turns to the mirror on my dresser, straightens her dress, and fixes her hair like it’s a normal day.
“No.” A whisper escapes my lips through horror and shock.
Her hands still. “What?” She blinks at me through the mirror.
“No,” I repeat louder. “You have no right.”
She chuckles. “Oh, you stupid little girl. I have every right in the world.” With a slow, calm, and precise turn, she faces me, the smile on her face… pure evil.
“No.” I shake my head and step backward, trying to place more distance between us.
“Watch me, young lady.” She steps to me, my attempts to escape feeble against her determination and anger.
She closes in on me. Frantic, I reach behind me, searching for something—anything—to help me. My hand closes on the nearest thing to me: a glass of water. Consequences be damned. She needs to be stopped. With my survivor instinct flaring, I throw the glass at the wall behind her with all my strength. Trying to scare her or hurt her, I know not. All I know is that I can’t let her do this to me.
The glass shatters into a hundred little pieces and scatters all over the bedroom floor. Shattered, destroyed, and forever irreparable, just like the last sliver of love I felt for my mother.
Alerted to our altercation, my father throws open the door. Wild eyes scan the room.
He looks at me. He looks at my mother. Then he looks at the broken glass. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears and his hopelessness strikes me deep down because my eyes reflect his.
“I’m pregnant,” I announce to him, my voice gutted by my mother’s betrayal.
He stands frozen before me. Every second that passes, I pray my words touch something good deep down inside of him and that he takes pity on me. I pray that, despite our distance, I mean enough to him that he’s willing to go against my mother and save my unborn child.
Because he’s my last hope.
34 weeks later
“Arghhhh!” I fall back onto the hospital bed, arch my back, and take short, quick, shallow breaths, trying to breathe through the excruciating pain that hits me. My stomach tenses as yet another long, sharp pain crescendos. The pain peaks so great I fear I won’t make it through alive.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” My father whispers encouragements. He holds my hand and pushes back the sweat-damp hair from my forehead. For the umpteenth time, I send thanks above it is my father and not my mother in the room with me. She wouldn’t have held my hand or whispered reassurances. Over the past nine months, my mother has shown her true, cruel colors. The backhanded comments, constantly calling to light my foolishness, the martyred actions as she had to retreat to a place where we are not known so my father doesn’t suffer because of me through whispered talk.
I turn my head to look at him. My heart breaks because he’s never called me sweetheart. I’ve always been darling, daughter, and his perfect little girl. That is, until now. Through an act of foolishness, I’ve alienated my mother, turning her into an even colder woman who doesn’t bother to mask her disgust. I’ve disappointed my father and almost ruined our lives.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry, Father.” I finish my plea for forgiveness before another contraction strikes me, and I tense.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” His eyes alarm me. I’ve never seen him look at me in such a way like he truly sees me.
“Da—” Another contraction hits, and I grit my teeth and groan. “I can’t do this. Oh, God. I can’t.” Tears escape, making me feel helpless and like a failure.
“Of course you can. Just breathe,” he whispers and places a kiss on my forehead. “You’re doing great, my little warrior. I’m so proud of you.”
“We’re ready to push,” a muffled yet understanding voice indicates from below my waist. I raise my head and look downward. The the nurses and the doctor are moving quickly, positioning themselves. “When I tell you to push, you need to push. Understand?”
Unable to speak, I nod in confirmation as another contraction takes over my body. I tense and arch my back, my breath stolen by the sudden pain.
“Now,” he orders with an urgency that doesn’t ring through my pain-hazed understanding.
With as much force as I can muster, I bear down and push. Teeth clenched, groans of pain escaping, several orders from the doctor to push, and squeezing my father’s hand with all my might to help withstand the pain, I continue to push until I bring another life into this world.
I fall back on the bed with a satisfying flop and take short, ragged breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. My body is shaking, and I feel frail. The room spins around me. Minutes go by before my father approaches me. During this time, I struggle to control my body, coldness now creeping its way up my feet and my legs.
“You did it.” He looks down at me with an emotion I can’t define. Pity, love, sadness…?
“Where is she?” I ask breathlessly.
The nurse brings forth a pink bundle. “Would you like to hold—”
“No.” My mother’s sharp voice sounds from my right, startling me. She must have snuck into the room. “Take her away.” She waves the baby away like an unwanted dinner plate. As if she were a nuisance.
“No!” I cry out, reaching for my daughter. “Why are you doing this?”
My father continues to look at me but says nothing. His glistening eyes lose the battle and a lone tear escapes. “Father?” I become alarmed, and a terrible fear grips my heart. “What’s going on? Why can’t I hold her?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. This is the way things have to be.” He sits beside me, takes my hand, and bows his head over our intertwined fingers. Sobs, a sound I’ve never heard from my father, sound, shaking his body.
I close my eyes and allow the tears to fall because there is nothing I can do. Fate has decided. No matter how much I fight, beg, cry, or ask for forgiveness, she will never be mine, and I will never be able to hold her in my arms.
My baby girl is lost to me forever.