Chapter 3
“Don’t forget to call as soon as you arrive, Stella,” my mother reminds me as we arrive at the airport.
I kiss her on the cheek. “Roger that, Sergeant.”
My mother makes a mouth gesture that’s so characteristic of her before she starts to flutter around me, making a mental inventory of what I’m taking.
“Look at the security line,” adds Val. “You have to go right now.”
After another round of hugs and blessings, I get in line behind a group of smiling young women excited for their vacation.
I appreciate their shallow conversation, their talk about bikinis and lipstick distracts me from my problems or the ones I’ll face when I arrive in LA.
I sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the terminal while I wait to board the plane for my first flight ever. Flying doesn’t scare me, but my mind is a mess because I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to my final destination.
I called the hospital, but they refused to tell me anything, even after I told them I’m his wife. Marriage is supposed to make everything stronger. In my case, it feels like I’m trying to run a marathon while carrying a tractor’s wheel on my back.
Mission impossible.
A thousand things go through my mind, thoughts bigger than me and I don’t even understand them.
Lionel got assaulted in the middle of the street in broad daylight.
Someone wanted to kill my husband, who turns out is a real estate mogul.
And now he’s teetering between life and death—at least that’s what the news anchor said.
It’s overwhelming and disturbing.
The worst part is I don’t know what I’m going to do if something happens to him.
I thought that we’d grow old together, buy an old vineyard, and bring it back to life while raising our kids.
He stole those dreams from me with his lies.
And yet my heart aches for him, for what’s happening.
What kind of trouble did you get yourself into, Lionel? Why were you shot?
What ’ s going on? What haven ’ t you told me?
The first of the two flights leaves me in a confused fog between despair and anger. Thinking about how small everything looks from above, how minuscule our existence is.
How vast the world is.
And yet, my entire world is laying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
The layover becomes long enough to drive me crazy, and with each passing mile, my anxiety grows and grows.
“You’re a nervous flyer, right?” I turn to see the man sitting next to me. He looks like the stereotypical grandfather from movies, with white hair, rosy cheeks, and a pair of reading glasses on the tip of his nose.
“It’s my first time,” I reply.
The man doesn’t say another word and I’m grateful for it.
The man remains silent, and I am grateful for the respite. After enduring two flights, a grueling layover, and navigating through the infamous Los Angeles traffic in the back seat of an Uber, my heart races as I finally arrive at the hospital. I sprint to the intensive care ward where a stern-faced nurse behind a desk demands my identification. With shaking hands, I provide what she needs, and she leads me to Lionel’s room.
But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greets me when she opens the thick white curtain. My husband, bruised and broken, lies still on a bed surrounded by a tangle of tubes and cables. His face is paler than the sheet covering his now fragile body, and the black ink of his tattoos seems to be darker than ever. The constant beeping of a machine beside him is the only sign of life.
Reality hits me like a ton of bricks as I stand there, frozen in shock and disbelief. This can’t be happening. He can’t be lying here like this. But he is, and it’s all too real. Tears prick at my eyes as I try to make sense of it all. This is not how our story was supposed to end. My legs tremble, refusing to hold me up. I take Lionel’s hand and drop to my knees at the side of his bed. The vinyl floor feels cold, but all I care about is feeling his warm skin touching mine.
He’s alive and fighting.
There is life within him, giving me hope that he’ll make it. That he’ll be okay.
And yet this seems straight out of a nightmare that I want to wake up from.
It seems so absurd.
I wish I could understand it, but I know it’s something bigger than me.
Nothing is impossible.
Lifting my mask a little, I kiss him on the forehead, being careful not to touch his bruise. Silent minutes creep by as I watch his features, his dark blond hair slicked back, the dimple on his chin. The man I married, as handsome as ever—looks so peaceful.
I have no idea how long I’ve been there when a very tall, well-dressed blonde woman comes in with the nurse.
“Who are you?” she asks with authority. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up the moment I recognize her.
Johanna Kral, the woman in the black SUV, peers closer. “Girl, I asked you who you are? And what are you doing here with my son? Only family is authorized to be in this room.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“What? You don’t speak English?” she says with contempt. “Nurse, please call security, this woman can’t be here.”
I don’t know how but somewhere within me I find the strength to speak. “I’m going nowhere. I have every right to be with my husband.”
She glares, flames shooting from her blue eyes. “That’s impossible!” she refutes. “My son isn’t married, let alone to someone like you.”
She looks me up and down, pointing to my long skirt and the wrinkled shirt I’m wearing.
Well, what did she expect? After all, I had to leave in a hurry to come see him.
“Look, ma’am, I didn’t expect to meet you under these circumstances.” The truth is, I didn’t even know of her existence until a few hours ago, but I swallow those words. “But I’m here and I’m staying.”
She looks at me like I slapped her, and the nurse chooses this moment to intervene.
“I think we should take this discussion outside, Mr. Kral needs quiet.”
We both look at each other, ready to continue this duel of titans.
We go out into the hall, it’s just a few steps, but it feels like a journey.
“I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but you need to go.” Mrs. Kral has said those words in a mellow tone, but I can’t help but notice they were more a warning than a mere suggestion.
“I have every right to be here and nobody, not even you, can demand me to leave.”
“We’ll see about that,” she says before turning to a man in a black suit standing by the door of the room. “Tom, get her out of here.”