CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIX
Forgiveness
I watched people walk past Madam Black’s restaurant from inside, their conversations and laughter fading into the background as Alice’s words from earlier that day lingered in my mind, each one cutting a little deeper than the last. Slowly, my gaze dropped to the side of my hips, where I had tucked the envelope she gave me. It was so light, yet it felt so heavy.
“She said it would be ready in five minutes.” I turned to Marcus, who sat opposite me, then looked away without a response.
“Hey.” His hand reached across the table and settled gently over mine. I turned back to him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead creasing with concern. “You’ve been quiet since we left your house. You told me you were feeling okay.”
I stared at him, unable to find the right words. I could see the worry in his eyes deepen as my silence stretched between us. He shifted in his seat, his gaze searching my face.
“Do I need to call Dr. Berot?” he asked, already reaching into his pocket for his phone.
“No!” The word came out sharper and louder than I intended. He froze, his fingers hovering over his phone, and I let out a shaky breath.
“No,” I repeated, softer this time. “It’s just…” My voice trailed off as I sighed heavily.
“What is it?” he asked gently, his voice losing its urgency as he leaned towards me.
I lowered my gaze to my hips, where the envelope lay hidden beneath the fabric of my clothes. For a moment, I hesitated. My fingers brushed against its edge, and I felt that familiar heaviness settle over me again. It was ridiculous how something so small could make me feel so burdened.
Still, I slipped my hand beneath my clothes, retrieved the envelope, and placed it on the table between us. I kept my fingers on it for a moment before slowly withdrawing my hand. Marcus glanced down at the envelope, his expression unreadable. Then he lifted his eyes to mine, his earlier concern giving way to quiet curiosity.
“What is this?” Marcus asked, picking up the envelope before I could answer.
He slipped a finger beneath the flap and pulled out its contents. His eyes moved over the photograph, and suddenly, he gasped. His entire body seemed to stiffen as he stared at it, his lips parting in disbelief.
“Is this…?”
“Yes.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “That’s my dead daughter.”
The words came out painfully, each one scraping against a wound I had been trying so hard to live with. I lowered my gaze, blinking rapidly as more tears gathered in my eyes. Even now, saying the words aloud felt cruelly unnatural. She was my daughter. My baby. The little girl I had carried inside me, dreamed about, and imagined holding in my arms. Yet all I had left of her was a photograph I hadn’t even known existed until a few hours ago.
“Where did you get this?” Marcus asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Alice. She gave it to me.”
“Oh, my God!” he exclaimed, lifting his free hand to cover his mouth. His eyes returned to the photograph, and he shook his head slowly, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. “Kylian…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “How could he carry her?”
My head snapped up.
“He’s in the picture?” I asked, surprise cutting through me.
Marcus looked at me, his brows drawing together. “Yes. Haven’t you seen the picture?”
“No.” I shook my head, confused by his question.
“Why not?”
“Parents shouldn’t see their dead child where I come from,” I explained, my voice growing quieter with every word. I swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in my throat. “It is a taboo.”
I looked at the photograph in Marcus’s hands, my heart aching. I had spent so long wondering about the daughter I never got to meet properly. Right in front of me was a photograph of my daughter, the little girl whose face I had spent months trying to imagine, and yet I couldn’t look.
“But I really want to see her, Marcus.” My lips trembled, and I pressed them together, trying unsuccessfully to hold back another sob. “I really want to know what she looks like.” My voice broke on the final word.
“Okay,” Marcus murmured, sitting upright as he brought the photograph closer to his face. He studied it for a moment, his expression softening as he took in every tiny detail. “She has a head full of hair. I’m going to assume she got that from Kylian.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “
She has the same dark pigmentation around her eyes that you do. And a pointed nose. You don’t have that, and neither does Kylian, so it most likely came from one of the grandparents.”
He let out a small laugh, but it caught somewhere in his throat, breaking into something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. I laughed too, though I couldn’t remember exactly when my tears had started falling again. I hadn’t even noticed Marcus crying until I saw the tears glistening in his eyes. Somehow, seeing him grieve with me made the ache inside my chest feel a little less lonely.
“She has your face,” he continued, his voice growing tender. “Your lips, especially. Look at those pink lips.” He paused, studying the photograph with an expression of wonder. “I think she would have been your spitting image if she’d lived.”
A fresh stream of tears spilled down my cheeks. I leaned closer, trying to see what he was seeing, as though his words could somehow bring her into focus in my imagination. My daughter. My little girl. She had a face, a nose, and lips that resembled mine.
“She had a white dress on,” Marcus continued softly, running his thumb along the edge of the photograph. “And she looked so peaceful in her father’s arms.”
Something inside me loosened at those words.
Her father’s arms.
Strangely, the thought brought me a measure of peace I hadn’t expected. For so long, I had imagined her alone, separated from me by circumstances I could neither change nor understand. But now I knew that wasn’t how it had happened. Kylian had held her. Someone who loved her, someone whose blood ran through her veins, had been there with her at the end.
She wasn’t alone.
And somehow, that knowledge made the world feel a little less cruel.
“She was beautiful,” Marcus remarked, a note of genuine delight in his voice as he gazed at the photograph. I turned to him, searching his face through my tears.
“She was?”
He nodded firmly. “Of course! You and Kylian made her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she would have been the most beautiful baby in the world.”
A laugh escaped me, soft and watery, and for the first time that evening, I felt light.
“Yes,” I said, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’m proud of that.”
Marcus smiled before carefully sliding the photograph back into the envelope and placing it next to me on the table.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see her,” he said quietly. His words settled between us, heavy with the helplessness of something neither of us could change.
“I’m sorry too,” I whispered.
I drew in a long, unsteady breath, filling my lungs with the cool evening air. For a moment, I closed my eyes and let it out slowly. I had seen my daughter’s face. I had learned that she had hair, that she had my lips, and that she had worn a pink dress. I had learned that her father had held her in his arms.
For the first time in a long while, the memories I had of her weren’t entirely made of things I had lost. There was something new to hold on to now, something I could picture whenever I thought of her.
For now, that was enough.
I opened my eyes and looked at Marcus. “I’m ready for some pepper soup.”
He blinked at me, momentarily taken aback, before a smile spread across his face. “Madam Black!” he called out to the owner.
“I’m coming!” Madam Black yelled back from the kitchen.
It was then that I became aware of just how thoroughly the aroma of pepper soup had taken over the restaurant. The rich, spicy fragrance drifted through the air, carrying hints of fresh pepper, local herbs, and steaming fish. It wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and my mouth watered in eager anticipation. For the first time that afternoon, something other than grief demanded my attention, and I welcomed the distraction.
A few moments later, Madam Black emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray in her hands. She approached our table and carefully set it down in front of Marcus and me. The moment she lifted the lid, a fresh wave of fragrant steam rose from the pot. I didn’t wait for an invitation.
I dragged the pot closer to myself, grabbed my spoon, and dug in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days. The first spoonful of broth warmed my tongue, sending a delicious burst of peppery heat down my throat. Then I found a generous chunk of fish, and the moment it touched my tongue, my eyes fluttered shut. I tilted my head back, a soft, appreciative sound escaping my lips as I savoured the rich flavour.
God, I missed this.
When I finally opened my eyes, I found Marcus and Madam Black staring at me, their expressions caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
“What?” I asked, looking from one to the other with a smile.
“Nothing,” Madam Black replied, though the fond amusement in her eyes betrayed her. “It’s just good to see you smile again.” She paused, her expression softening. “I mean, there was a time when you couldn’t even stand the smell of pepper soup.”
My smile widened as memories of those dark days surfaced. I remembered the heaviness, the exhaustion, and the way even the smallest pleasures had seemed to belong to another version of me, a woman I could barely recognise anymore.
Madam Black gave me a final, affectionate smile before turning to leave us to our meal. My gaze followed her briefly before something on the table caught my attention.
The envelope.
My smile faded a little as I stared at it. For a moment, I simply sat there, my spoon suspended above the pot, while the reality of what it contained settled over me once more. Inside was the photograph of my daughter, the only image I had of the little girl I had never been allowed to see.
I knew there would be days when the longing to look at her face would become unbearable. Days when I would want to pull out that photograph and trace the outline of her tiny features with my fingertips, searching for pieces of myself in her face. There would be nights when I would wonder what she might have looked like as she grew older, whether her hair would have remained as full as it was in the picture, and whether her smile would have resembled mine or her father’s.
And on those days, I knew that having the photograph would be both a comfort and a torment because it would be a taboo to look at it. I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the spoon.
“Ma’am,” I called.
Madam Black stopped and turned towards me. I reached for the envelope, picked it up, and held it out to her. “Please, burn this for me.”
“What?” Marcus exclaimed.
Madam Black looked from me to the envelope, clearly taken aback. Marcus, meanwhile, stared at me as though I had just announced something he couldn’t begin to understand.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
I looked down at the envelope in my hand. For a brief moment, I imagined opening it and allowing myself another look at my daughter’s face. The thought made my chest ache, but I knew I had to make a choice about how I wanted to move forward.
“Yes,” I answered. I placed the envelope in Madam Black’s outstretched hand, then pressed my palm gently against my chest.
“I don’t need that picture,” I said, offering Marcus a small, reassuring smile. “Because I carry her with me.” My fingers rested over my heart. “Right here.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Madam Black’s expression softened, and Marcus looked at me with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. I gave Madam Black one final nod, silently asking her to respect my decision. Then I picked up my spoon, dipped it into the pot, and returned to my pepper soup.
“How have you been?” Dr. Berot asked in a gentle voice the moment I settled into my seat.
“Okay,” I replied, managing a small smile that barely lifted the corners of my mouth. She studied me for a moment before nodding.
“So, what have you been up to since the last time we spoke?”
“Nothing much.” I lowered my gaze to my hands and began fiddling with my fingers. “I started writing again.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yes.” A faint smile crept onto my face, and this time, it felt a little more genuine. “I’ve been putting my work on Fiverr, and I’ve started getting offers to write for people.”
“That’s impressive!” she exclaimed, her face brightening. Then, as her expression settled into its familiar warmth, she asked, “And how does that make you feel?”
“Good, I guess.” I shrugged, rubbing my thumb against the side of my index finger. “I’m hoping I can save enough money to get my own apartment and move out of Marcus’s place. He needs his space.”
Dr. Berot tilted her head slightly. “Did he tell you that?”
“No.” I shook my head quickly. “He would never say something like that. But he’s a grown man with a girlfriend, and I can’t keep living in his house forever. There was a reason for me to be there when I wasn’t doing well, but things are different now.” I paused, searching for the right words to explain the discomfort that had been growing inside me. “I feel better, and I don’t want to keep intruding on his personal space.”
She nodded slowly, allowing my words to settle before asking, “But why do you need to get a new apartment when you already have a house of your own?”
“I’m divorcing Kylian,” I said at last, lifting my eyes to meet hers. My voice was steadier than I expected. “And I’m letting go of everything that has anything to do with him.”
“Did you do what I asked you to do? Did you walk the last path?” Dr. Berot asked, fixing her gaze on me.
“Yes, I did,” I answered with a small nod.
“And you still want to let Kylian go?”
I stared at her in confusion, wondering what one had to do with the other. “One hundred per cent,” I replied firmly. “But what does that have to do with walking the last path?”
“Reconciling you with your past life and helping you face it without allowing it to break you,” she explained. Her eyes moved over my face, taking in my expression before she continued. “You are sitting right in front of me, looking bright and well. I would say it didn’t break you.”
“Oh!” I mumbled, a flicker of understanding passing through me. “So that was the lesson.”
“What lesson did you learn from that journey?”
I sat back in my chair, thinking about it for a moment. My mind drifted to my time in my nursery.
“Goodbye,” I said quietly.
Dr. Berot tilted her head. “Goodbye?”
“Yes. I said my goodbye.” I drew in a breath, feeling an unfamiliar sense of calm as I put my thoughts into words. “I packed up my baby’s things, and I closed that chapter of my life. I think that was the lesson I needed to learn.”
Dr. Berot watched me thoughtfully before a gentle smile spread across her face.
“I guess that’s one of the lessons, too.” She lowered her gaze and jotted something into her notepad. I waited quietly, watching her pen move across the paper, until she suddenly paused and looked up at me.
“Did you say you packed your baby’s things yourself?”
I nodded. A soft chuckle escaped her, and she shook her head in what looked like genuine amazement. “I must say, your healing is impressive and astonishing.”
Surprised, I smiled. Listening to her acknowledge how far I had come, I felt something warm bloom inside my chest.
Pride.
For the first time, I was genuinely proud of myself.
“So, any progress on the divorce front?” Dr. Berot asked.
“What?” I blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.
“Have you had the papers drawn up?”
“No.”
She set her pen down and regarded me thoughtfully. “What’s the hold-up if you’re one hundred per cent sure you want to go ahead with it?”
I shifted in my seat, rubbing my palms together. “I’ve heard divorce can be a messy battle, and I don’t want to walk into it unprepared. I want to be on solid ground before I take that step.”
“That makes sense.” She picked up her pen and jotted something down before looking at me again. “Now, tell me about the last path.”
My eyes dropped to my hands almost immediately. I studied my fingers for a moment, tracing the lines on my palm as memories from a month ago came rushing back. When I finally lifted my head, I was smiling.
“It was hard,” I admitted, but the smile lingered, and something tightened in my chest.
“It was really hard. I almost broke.” A small chuckle escaped me as I shook my head. “Actually, I did break, but I got back up again.” I paused, swallowing against the lump that had begun to form in my throat.
“Packing her things wasn’t easy. It took so much out of me, but I got the job done.” I let out a slow breath, feeling a small flicker of pride at the memory. I had done it. Somehow, I had found the strength to do something I once thought would destroy me.
Then my mind drifted to Alice.
My smile faltered, and I felt my expression change before I could stop it. The memory of her accusation came rushing back, reopening a wound I hadn’t quite realised was still tender.
“What is it?” Dr. Berot asked.
I blinked and looked at her. “What?”
“You remembered something just now. What happened?”
I stared at her for a moment before a reluctant smile tugged at my lips.
You forgot you’re sitting in front of a face and mind reader.
“I met Alice at my house.”
Dr. Berot raised her eyebrows. “What was she doing there?”
“Looking after my business, I guess.” I shrugged, though the mere mention of Alice was enough to make my jaw tighten.
“Okay. What happened between the two of you?”
“She called me selfish.” The words came out sharper than I intended, and I felt my frustration rising all over again. “She called me selfish for caring only about my feelings and not theirs.” I let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “I lost my baby and my womb!” My voice grew louder as the injustice of it all settled over me.
“Why do I have to care about the feelings of people who hurt me?” I paused, struggling to contain my anger, before raising a finger.
“And then she went on to say…” I pointed upwards, mimicking Alice’s manner of speaking. “That I was only acting cocky because Kylian loves me and won’t let me go.”
Dr. Berot studied me for a moment.
“Is that why you’re delaying the divorce?”
I gawked at her.
“Of course not!” I exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “I’m not delaying anything. I told you I want to be on solid ground before I go ahead with the divorce. You said that made sense!”
“Okay,” she replied, but the look on her face told me that she wasn’t entirely convinced.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What? You don’t believe me?”
How will she believe you when I’m finding it hard to believe you myself?
“It doesn’t matter whether I believe you or not,” she said calmly. “What matters is whether you believe yourself. Also, Alice isn’t entirely wrong.”
“Excuse me?” I stared at her in disbelief. Of all the things I had expected to hear from her, that certainly wasn’t one of them.
“Calling you selfish was insensitive,” she continued, seemingly unbothered by the outrage on my face. “But she isn’t wrong about everything. Kylian was the father of your child. He was looking forward to meeting her just as much as you were. He had hopes and dreams for that little girl, too, and those dreams were shattered.”
My fingers curled against my palms.
“It wasn’t just your world that came crashing down; Kylian’s did, too.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in. “Have you ever stopped to consider how he might be feeling? Especially given that he was the architect of everything that happened?”
“You got that right!” I snapped, the words bursting out of me before she could say anything else. “He is the architect of my misfortune! All of this was his doing. It was his fault I lost my baby!” My chest heaved as I struggled to contain the storm building inside me.
“I don’t give a fuck if he’s in hell, Dr. Berot! I don’t care what he’s going through, and I never, ever want anything to do with him again!” My voice echoed in the room before the silence swallowed it.
Dr. Berot didn’t respond immediately. She simply leaned back in her chair, picked up her notepad, and began writing something down. I watched her, my breathing still uneven, wondering what on earth she could possibly be writing after everything I had just said.
Eventually, she stopped, set her pen against the page, and lifted her eyes to mine.
“I think it’s time we moved to another level of your healing.”
I frowned, still feeling the remnants of my anger simmer beneath my skin. “Which is?”
She held my gaze.
“Forgiveness.”
I stared at her. Forgiveness?
Of all the ridiculous things she could have suggested, that had to be the worst. I had spent months trying to survive the aftermath of what happened to me. I had fought my way through grief and begun rebuilding a life I barely recognised. I had finally reached a point where I could wake up in the morning without feeling as though the world had ended all over again.
And now she wanted me to forgive Kylian?
Is she fucking kidding me?
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT SATURDAY, 9PM WAT
0 Comments