32. Chapter 26
X iomara
I wake with my heart pounding and my breath lodged somewhere between my ribs and throat.
The room is still dark, but pale blue light spills through the shutters, just enough to cast gentle stripes across the floor.
My pulse hammers in my ears from the dream I was having.
But like fog in sunlight, it slips away from me before I can grab hold of it.
I sit up, pressing the heels of my hands to my temples, trying to will the fragments back, but all that’s left is this vague ache in my chest—like something beautiful was broken just before I woke up.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The silence is heavy.
Even the birds seem to be holding their breath. After a moment, I check the time.
It’s still early, and Maksim’s bedroom door is closed. I think about our trip to the beach the previous day, and a smile tugs at my lips. He would always run back to me with anything he found on the beach, saying, “Mama, wook, I found this for you.”
He would typically be up by now, but the trip had worn him out, so his side of the apartment is currently quiet, filled with the hush only a two-year-old can muster when he’s curled up in sleep, his face buried in his favorite stuffed dino.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand, stretching slowly, trying to shake off the chill that won’t leave my spine. My body feels off and tense in a way I can’t name.
My routine kicks in on autopilot. I pad barefoot into the kitchen and grind coffee beans by hand, the rhythm familiar and grounding. The aroma is rich and comforting. The small French press hisses as I pour in the water.
Steam curls upward.
The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I walk toward the balcony. I push open the wooden shutters, and the rising Alicante sun floods in—golden, warm, relentless.
The sky is already clear, the sea visible in the distance beyond the red rooftops. It should feel peaceful, like it always does.
But it doesn’t.
Not today.
I take my coffee outside and sit on the sun-warmed tiles, legs tucked beneath me, the breeze catching the hem of my nightshirt.
I flip through a tattered children’s book—nursery rhymes in both English and Spanish.
Maksim’s favorite. Some pages are wrinkled from his wet fingers, while others have been taped back together where he tore them during fits of frustration or giggles.
I trace the words idly with my finger, mouthing them silently, but not really reading.
My mind keeps circling the edge of the dream like a hawk, sensing something there, just beyond view.
It’s like waking up from a storm you didn’t know passed over you.
The skies are clear, but you still taste rain.
After finishing my coffee, I wash the mug slowly and set it aside. The scent of rising yeast from the bakery below begins to waft in, signaling the start of morning.
I check on Maksim.
He’s still sleeping, arms sprawled wide as if he owns the entire apartment. His dark lashes rest against chubby cheeks, and his mouth is slightly open. I smile despite myself and press a kiss to his forehead.
I push the hunting dream out of my mind as I start my day.
I crack some eggs and place them in the pan.
Next, I arrange orange slices on a plate and grab Maksim’s favorite spoon.
I hum softly while I work, half-hoping the melody will calm me, half- hoping it will unlock my dream, but it doesn’t.
And I’m left with nothing but a sense of something unfinished.
Later in the morning, the apartment is alive with sound. Maksim is a blur of motion—his feet thud against the wooden floors, tiny arms swinging as he races through the hallway, clutching a plastic truck that makes far too much noise for this time of day.
“Bath time, Maksim,” I call, chasing after him with a towel slung over my shoulder. “You need to smell like lemons, not crumbs!”
He squeals in delight and ducks around the corner, his laughter echoing off the walls.
“?No! No bano!” he shouts with wild glee, using his whole body to dramatize the rejection.
I laugh under my breath as I follow him, one hand bracing the doorframe as I lean around it, pretending to search like a spy.
“Where did my little bandit go? Hmm…” I tease, narrowing my eyes.
He giggles from under the kitchen table, not even bothering to hide properly.
A beat later, I lunge—and he bolts again, shrieking with laughter, the plastic truck forgotten. I chase him through the narrow corridor, adrenaline and joy mingling in my chest, my steps quick, breath light, and my heart full.
And in this moment, a sense of déjà vu hits me. It crashes into me like a wave against bone, and I freeze mid-step.
Maksim’s laughter distorts, fades, as if sinking underwater, and suddenly, I’m no longer in Alicante.
Instead, I see my mother. Her face is younger, her smile wide and full of mischief as she chases a much smaller version of me through the arched hallways of our childhood home.
Her bare feet slap against the marble floors.
I remember the smell of orange blossom perfume and the flutter of her skirt.
“?Te voy a atrapar , Xiomara!” she shouts.
I scream and laugh, wild and free. But as I turn the corner, the world shifts abruptly, and I’m not a child anymore. Rather, I’m kneeling beside my father’s grave. My palms are dirty, pressed into soft, wet soil. The headstone is new, the flowers are fresh, and my shoulders are shaking.
I am sobbing so hard my ribs hurt. The earth beneath me feels too heavy, too final. I turn to my Mum for comfort, but I find her also walking into a freshly dug grave with a sad smile on her face.
“Mama…” I whisper aloud.
And just like that, the dream fades, and I’m back in my body, back in my tiny hallway, still holding the towel.
Maksim is at my feet, his arms wrapped around my leg. He looks up at me, confused, his big gray eyes searching mine.
“Mama?” he says softly, the word sounding worried.
I blink and force a smile, even though it feels like it's cracking my face open. I gently brush his hair back, but my fingers tremble.
“I’m okay, mi amor,” I whisper. “Just thinking too much.”
But I’m not okay. Not even close. I can feel it that something is wrong, but I don’t know what, or why, or how—but the feeling sits inside me like a block of ice.
A cold chill crawls up my spine, settling at the base of my neck.