Chapter Forty-eight
Abigail-Ann
“We loved with a love that was more than love.”
~ Edgar Allan Poe
I ’d mop the fucking ocean or count every grain of salt on this planet before I’d willingly sign up to have my period. But, of course, the one day I had to work for ten hours straight, my uterus decided to return from its months–long vacation in full force.
No warning. No slow build-up. Just pure, unrelenting agony.
The only thing keeping me from spiraling into full-blown misery was the beautiful bouquet Mikkel had left in the kitchen this morning. He didn’t just buy fresh flowers—he also got a new vase, arranging them with the same care he always showed. As if that wasn’t enough, he placed the knitted ones in a cute stand on my bedside table, no words, no fuss—just doing it like it was second nature .
Coffee with Azzaria had been a welcome distraction for a while, but it didn’t last long. She had to rush off, something about Dillon and a flight they needed to catch.
Now, though, I was at work, and nausea hit me like a brick wall. I gritted my teeth, shelving books with robotic precision, nodding politely at the authors here for today’s signing. They were nice enough, excited about their books and the readers trickling in, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be chatty.
The minutes crawled by, stretching out into an eternity. I barely spoke unless necessary, keeping interactions short and efficient. Answering a patron’s question. Directing an author to the right table. Sorting a never-ending pile of returns.
I didn’t even take a lunch break. Not because I was too busy—though that was part of it—but because my stomach felt like it was waging a war against me, and food was the last thing on my mind.
By the time my shift ended, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I didn’t think twice before booking an Uber, desperate to get home and unwind. The moment I stepped through the door, relief washed over me.
I headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water work out the tension in my muscles. By the time I emerged, wrapped in soft pajamas, I already felt a little lighter. With a cup of chamomile tea in hand, I curled up on the couch, pressing a heating pad to my stomach. The soothing warmth dulled the lingering ache, and for the first time all day, I let myself exhale.
The pain in my lower abdomen intensified, twisting into a relentless ache that made it hard to focus. I tried watching a romcom, but the words blurred and my head pounded even harder. The nausea returned, stronger than before, and I barely made it to the bathroom in time. I retched over the toilet, shaky and weak, then collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down my face.
My body felt like it was turning against me, the physical pain merging with the weight of the day’s exhaustion. I wanted to curl up and disappear, but all I could do was lie there, silent tears slipping down my cheeks .
My phone rang, startling me. I fumbled for it, hoping the sound wouldn’t trigger another bout of nausea.
Seeing Mikkel’s name on the screen, I swiped to answer, my voice trembling as I spoke, “H-Hello?”
“Baby.” His voice was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to how I felt. “Wait, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
His concern broke through the fog of pain, and I burst into tears again. “No, I’m not okay,” I managed between sobs. “My period came, and the pain is unbearable. I was planning to wash my hair, but now I can’t even move without feeling like I’m dying.”
“Just hang on a bit more, okay?” he whispered. “I’m on my way.”
His words were a remedy, soothing some of the chaos inside me. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
I ended the call, dragged myself off the floor, and sank back onto the couch. Placing the heating pad on my stomach, I let its warmth soothe the ache. Exhaustion settled over me, and despite the lingering discomfort, my eyelids grew heavy.
I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, the pain still throbbing in waves through my body. Each movement felt like a Herculean effort, and I was barely aware of the passage of time when I heard a faint knock on my door.
Summoning what little strength I had, I shuffled to the door and pulled it open. Mikkel stood there, a box in his arms, his gaze sweeping over me with a mix of concern and determination.
Without a word, he stepped inside, set the box down on the table, and pulled me into a tight hug.
“I wasn’t exactly sure what you needed, so I picked up a few things,” he admitted softly. “Food since I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, along with cake, fruits, and Lay’s just in case.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I swallowed. “I don’t know what to say… ”
Mikkel pulled back slightly. “Did I get it wrong? I ca—”
“No,” I interrupted quickly, shaking my head. “You’re perfect. It’s perfect. I’m just… grateful. More than I can say.”
Relief softened his expression, and he pulled me into another hug, holding me gently against him. “I’m here now,” he whispered into my hair.
I buried my face against his chest and for the first time all day, a flicker of peace settled over me.
He was here, and that was all that mattered.
Eventually, he helped me get comfortable on the couch, adjusting the heating pad just right. As I sank into the cushions, he unpacked the box, neatly arranging everything on the coffee table within easy reach. Then, he set the yellow and white roses in the new vase—no wonder he’d bought a bigger one.
“Thank you for being here,” I whispered again, unable to stop the tears that slipped down my cheeks.
He kissed my forehead gently. “I’ll always be here with you, Red.”
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” I murmured, my voice still shaky with emotion.
His hand found mine. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”
I squeezed his hand gratefully, and we spent the next hour in comfortable silence, nibbling on snacks. He gave me soft belly rubs as we chatted quietly about inconsequential things. The painkillers began to take effect, dulling the sharp edges of the cramps, though my stomach continued to churn uncomfortably.
“I’m gonna go to bed,” I admitted reluctantly. “My stomach’s cramping again.”
“Of course,” he replied, moving to help me from the couch to the bedroom, where he gently tucked me under the covers with the heating pad.
“I’ll clean up out there,” Mikkel offered quietly, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a gentle touch .
“Thank you,” I whispered, overcome once more by his kindness. “For everything.”
He kissed my forehead tenderly. “That’s what I’m here for, mi reina. ”
Before meeting him, I thought to be loved was just being told you were loved. But to be loved is being seen. It’s being heard. It’s the way he listens to everything I say and understands what I haven’t, how he remembers the smallest details about me—even the ones I tend to forget. Love is found in the silence between us, never empty but filled with understanding. It’s knowing he’ll show up when I need him, without me asking. It’s the comfort of him making room for my flaws, fears, and dreams, never questioning it.
To be loved is knowing that even on my worst days, when I’m far from my best, I’m still worthy. It’s the reassurance that my lowest moments don’t define me, and in those times, I’m still cherished. Love isn’t about perfection; it’s the steady presence that reminds you, no matter what, you’re enough.
To be loved, to feel love, is to experience it from Mikkel. Because in all my life, the purest, most gentle love I’ve ever known has come from him.