28. Joy
JOY
“Mommy’s home,” I call, flying into my Mom’s place.
“Shhh,” hushes Mom, rocking Hope to sleep on the couch. “I just put her to sleep. It took some vigorous arm rocking, but we finally got there in the end.”
My chest fills with love as I stare down at Mom and Hope cuddled up on the couch.
Calling my daughter Hope felt like the right thing to do, since she’s been the light in the past ten months of darkness.
She has the same steel blue eyes as her father... who I have thought about every single day without fail for the last ten months.
It helped to lay my hand on my stomach as a reminder of why I walked away, but the pain was always still there.
I was high on gas and air in the delivery room, wishing Valerian was by my side, and we were experiencing our daughter’s first breaths together.
In the moments after giving birth, I shut my eyes and saw his face. I blamed the gas and air for dreaming about him that night… and all nights to follow, picturing his face, imagining his reaction.
My imagination was all I had.
I still see his face, the shadows curling around him as we stand together in the dark lobby, soaking in each other’s presence one last time.
Ten months later, it still hurts to think about, my heart slicing right through the center every time I picture his face and remember what we had for that week.
It was only one week. The pain has to subside at one point.
But staring into my own daughter’s eyes brings it all back.
I thought I wanted a piece of Valerian to keep with me always. I thought my daughter would make me look back on our time fondly.
Maybe it’s still too soon. It’s not even been a year.
“I don’t mind taking her for the rest of the evening if you need to rest.”
“Rest? Never heard of it?” I joke, taking my sleeping daughter into my arms.
I hold her close to my chest, feeling that unconditional love again blossom in my heart.
Things are finally starting to piece together. Not one month after starting my own line and publishing articles on how to style the pieces, the photographer from Valerian’s party reached out and offered to help do a photo shoot.
Things blew up out of fucking nowhere. Seven months into my pregnancy, I was signing with companies, collaborating with them.
The day before I went into labor with Hope, my boss had the nerve to reach out and email me, asking if I wanted my job back. April fools wasn’t for another week.
After giving birth to Hope last month, I really should be taking it easy.
But between breast feeding and everything else in between, my hands are always itching to touch some fabrics and pin new designs to mannequins.
It’s my form of relaxation—working in the studio.
I’m lucky to be able to do that, with Mom and Lila always helping out with Hope.
They say it’s no problem. They’re ecstatic for Hope to be the fourth member of our girls’ group.
But no matter how fun life is, the hole in my heart gapes open each night when I eventually hit the pillow.
Even through the night when I’m feeding Hope, I feel his imaginary presence on the bed with me, rubbing my back as I breast feed, experiencing all of the small moments with me.
Sometimes, to make the nights feel easier, I allow myself to believe the lie. I pretend that he’s with me, and the visions get so real I consider driving all the way to Beverly Hills the next morning to take him back.
But the second the sun rises, life beats me to it. Hope is crying. Her diaper needs changing. She needs her milk.
And then I’m passing her over to either Lila or Mom and doing something for me to keep the cup full.
“Are you okay?” asks Mom, staring at me.
“Yeah. I already told you I’m not tired.”
“Not that,” says Mom, further analyzing my face. “You look sad.”
I pin her a look, feeling the pain wash over me again. “I’m fine.”
“Have you heard from him?”
I clench my jaw. We leave Valerian out of all conversations. I thought about him throughout the pregnancy, but I never brought him up. Lila and Mom have always known better than to do that… until now.
“No.”
“You thought he’d reach out, right?”
I grit my teeth. I was always hoping so in a conflicting kind of way. Then I’d know he was still alive. But I bought a new phone, changed my number and address so he couldn’t reach out.
If he ever got back in touch, I knew I’d crumble.
Things have been quiet recently with the real estate. He posts now and again, nothing of his face, just his accomplishments. At this point, I’m unsure if he’s still running the accounts and leading the Bratva.
Ever since that day on the rooftop, it’s like he took a step back, which is why I have voices in my head telling me to go and check on him.
“You still think about him,” states Mom.
Love is a bitch that way. It stays with you forever, even when you’re not seeing the person.
I kiss Hope on the cheek, reminding myself why I’m doing this. Everything I do is for us, to keep us safe.
My heart may be torn to shreds now, but seeing Hope on the edge of that building would feel like having a blender in my heart, turning everything to mush.
Knowing that makes the ache much easier to manage.
“I know you feel like you’re protecting your daughter by keeping her away, but what if you’re denying her of seeing a father who might actually really love her?”
I stare up at my mom. “The issue isn’t with Valerian loving his daughter.”
“Right,” she says. “It’s the unpredictability of what’s waiting around the corner. It could be good. Could be bad.”
“And I’m not willing to take that gamble.”
“Yeah,” says my mom softly, “it’s your call to make.”
I nod. “I’m gonna put Hope in her cot.”
I wander into the next room. We’re still renovating Hope’s room, working on the last few finishing touches
Lila, Mom, and I all live under one roof in Orange Country. Five hundred meters away from the beach, I’d honestly have it no other way.
I lay Hope in her cot, kissing her goodnight, and perch on the stool in the corner, keeping a close eye on her. Darkness fills the room, giving me permission to feel the things I always shut out when the sun’s up.
I haven’t seen Igor. Orange County isn’t far from Malibu, where his apartment is. If he still has that.
My stomach churns when I think about that night. He killed Siguard, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was on good terms with his father.
If pissing off Igor was a challenge, Valerian would be first place.
Valerian had quite a few things to answer for.
And Igor basically said before sinking his knife into Siguard, that he wanted to kill his father.
The walls of this room close in, my thoughts spiraling. He’s been quiet for almost an entire year, his real estate posting things; his face never in any of the content.
Did Igor stay true to his word?
I rush out of Hope’s room, constructing a plan of action. I have to drive to Beverly Hills, and Mom will stay here and look after Hope.
I storm into the kitchen and yank open the fridge, lining up all the milk Hope should need tonight. I’ll be gone most of the night, considering how much of a fucking trek Beverly Hills is from here.
“Where... are you going?”
“I’m used to not getting any sleep,” I say, arranging bottles, getting everything prepared for the night. “One of these should be enough for her every time she wakes up.”
“Joy,” snaps my mother, silencing the other thoughts rushing through my head.
I turn around and immediately sense that something is off.
Mom’s face is drained of color, gray in tone.
“He’s gone, Joy.”
“W-what…?” I feel my blood turn cold. “Gone where?”
My mother tilts her head, her eyes already welling with tears. “The real estate company released something two minutes ago. It’s plastered all over the eight o’clock news.”
A terrible lump forms in my throat. “You’re lying.”
My mom shoots me a sympathetic look and switches on the TV.