Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mindy
I wake up to the sound of Sharon’s soft snoring.
I flinch and shift in the uncomfortable chair, but my eyes remain closed. My back is sore from sleeping in a seated position for the last few hours, but I don’t really care. All I care about is that my daughter’s surgery was successful. And that I get to be by her side as she recovers.
"The intervention was a success, Miss Williams," the doctor had said. "Sharon needs to stay here for a few days to recover, but she’s out of danger."
There are no words to express the relief I’d felt. I nearly jumped up and pulled the doctor into a big bear hug. Knowing that my baby girl would be okay felt like I’d been handed my life back.
"Can I please stay with her?" I was practically begging the doctor.
"Of course." He gave me a smile. "We can’t provide relatives with a bed to sleep on but if you’re comfortable with a chair-"
"Of course. Of course, I am," I’d said. I didn’t care that I hadn’t slept all night; I knew I’d sleep on broken glass if it meant I could be near Sharon.
My sweet baby girl. She’s barely six, yet she’s already a fighter. She overcame two big challenges very recently: first, she bravely spoke in front of a live audience at her school event. And now, barely a week later, she came out of major surgery, stronger than before. I could not be prouder of her.
I sense movement in the room and hear the door open, followed by soft voices drifting in from the hallway. My eyes flutter open slightly, but I close them almost immediately, flinching against the dim light. It’s probably just the nurse coming to check on Sharon.
But the movement stops. Nothing happens. The room is still. Yet the sense of someone nearby presses in on me. I feel a presence in the room – silent and motionless, but unmistakable. I don’t know why but my pulse begins to quicken. My heart rate picks up. I’m no longer sleeping.
My eyes snap open like a door flung wide. My vision is blurry at first, slowly adjusting to the dim light spilling in from the hospital corridor. I catch sight of my daughter’s peaceful, sleeping form on the bed beside me. She’s still, but the steady rise and fall of the bedsheet reassures me of her soft breathing. Then, as my gaze shifts toward the doorway, my heart drops.
There’s a figure standing there and I can tell it’s not the nurse. Unless it’s a male nurse - a very tall and broad one. But somehow, I know it isn’t. My eyes are wide open now, drawn to the silhouette of this man and his magnetic aura.
I know this man.
His muscular frame falters slightly, and even in the dim light, I can see he’s as shocked as I am. He takes a cautious step back, as if trying not to scare me. "Don’t freak out," is all he says, but it’s already too late. I am freaking out. Because if I didn’t know better, I’d think the man standing in front of me is…
Oh…
My…
God!
Maybe I’m still sleeping, and this is just a ridiculous dream. Maybe I’m so exhausted from the stress of yesterday that my mind is concocting this bizarre scenario. But as my eyes dart around the room, searching for any signs to confirm my theory, I realize with a sinking certainty that this is no dream. My senses are awake, acutely alert, heightened to the point that I can practically feel the pounding of my heart in my eardrums. This is reality, and the man standing before me is all too real.
"I knew it," I whisper, my mouth moving of its own accord. "I knew you were out there."
It’s all that comes out.
A second later, the room turns upside down and begins to spin around me. Another second later, the world goes black.
***
"Mindy! Mindy, wake up!" A voice, almost unnaturally deep, seeps through the thin veil of my daze.
I mutter something under my breath and shift my weight. I can feel the fog of unconsciousness slowly lifting. I’m disoriented and a strange heaviness presses down on me. Fragments of who I’d just seen - his face, his impossible presence - flood back into my mind.
"Mindy!" The deep voice calls out again, steady and insistent. My senses reluctantly return. I open one eye, catching sight of the tall figure standing above me. I’m immediately hit by a jolt of recognition, pinning me to the spot as if I’ve been nailed in place.
"Maron," I blurt, staring at him in disbelief.
It’s him!
It really is him!
And he’s alive!
I have no idea what he’s doing here. I have no clue how he found us. A thousand questions flood my mind, but I don’t care about them. All these years of secretly longing for him suddenly come crashing down on me like an avalanche. I don’t care about the past. I don’t care about how he pushed me away so violently, all those years ago. All I care about is that he’s alive and that he’s here.
Holy crap, he’s here!
The years have been unbelievably kind to him. He looks even more lethally, drop-dead handsome than I remember. His chiseled jawline, coupled with his five o’clock shadow, is just as gorgeous as ever. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. With his cheekbones that could cut glass, artfully tousled hair, and aura of brutal masculinity, Maron is still the ultimate portrait of male beauty. My mouth goes dry just drinking in the sight of him.
But there’s more to this moment than just seeing him again. Our eyes lock, and in that silent exchange, everything we once felt - the longing, the heartache, the years of separation - flows between us without a single word. It’s as if we’re speaking a language only we understand, a silent telepathy that holds all the emotions we’ve been pushing down all these years.
"Maron, I…," I begin to say, but my throat suddenly feels clogged. My gaze moves to Sharon’s sleeping form, clinging desperately to Mr. Hoppy. It’s a miracle the hospital staff hasn’t confiscated that worn bunny for a hygiene wash.
"Is she yours?" Maron finally asks, his eyes drifting towards my slumbering daughter beside me.
I gulp. "She is."
As if on cue, Sharon begins to stir. She shifts her body and slowly opens her eyes. Eyes as strikingly blue as her father’s.
Then, the most bizarre thing happens. My baby girl blinks, and her eyes dart between Maron and me, eventually landing on Maron.
"Hi," she murmurs.
"Hello," Maron replies like it’s the most natural thing ever.
"Did you come to see me?" Sharon says, giving Maron a smile.
Maron returns her gesture. "Yeah."
My mind reels in disbelief. Is this really happening? Is my daughter speaking to Maron, or is my brain conjuring illusions?
My eyes dart between the two of them as my mind frantically scrambles for answers. "You two know each other?"
Maron remains quiet, but Sharon nods. "We met at Story Night, Mommy."
"You were the best storyteller in the whole school," Maron chimes in, winking at my daughter.
I gape at the two of them, trying to put two and two together, but my head’s a mess. A clusterfuck of confusion, one might say. It stumbles over questions, desperately grasping for any way to make sense of the impossible scene unfolding before me.
"How are we feeling, little one?" A nurse enters with her trolley, greeting Sharon with a friendly grin. "I’m sorry, but I’ll need you both to wait outside," she adds, turning to Maron and me. "It’s time for Sharon’s medication." She glances at Sharon again, with a practiced smile. "Besides, I bet our little patient could use some more sleep, right?"
Sharon remains mute.
"Of course," I quickly tell her.
"In fact, I think it’s best if you go home, Ma’am. Your daughter really needs some rest and I bet you do too. You can come back tomorrow, during visiting hours."
"But can I just-"
"You heard the nurse, Mindy." This time it’s Maron. "And Sharon’s a brave girl. I bet she’ll be fine on her own for one night. Right, Sharon?"
To my surprise, my daughter nods and addresses Maron. "Will you come to see me again?"
"Sure thing, kiddo." Maron winks. "I’ll come back soon. I promise."
I stare at the two of them, unable to mask my shock. If I hadn’t witnessed their exchange with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it was real. I know it’s ridiculous, but if hearts could melt, mine would be a puddle of mush right now. Like a stick of butter left too long in the microwave. Soft, warm, and so gooey that even a family of ants would find it hard to resist.
I move to Sharon’s bedside and bend down to give her a gentle peck on the forehead. "Are you sure you’re going to be okay without me for the night, sweetheart?" I’m probably acting like an overprotective mother, but we haven’t spent a single night apart since the day she was born.
"Yes, Mommy. Mr. Hoppy is here with me," she says, still holding on to his stuffed bunny.
"Okay, baby." I kiss my little fighter’s temple. "I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning, okay?"
I follow the nurse outside, Maron close behind me. The door closes, cutting off the soft beeping of machines. The corridor stretches before us, a stark contrast to the intimate bubble of Sharon’s room. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. The air is thick with the sharp scent of disinfectant; nurses and doctors hurry past, their shoes squeaking on the polished floor.
My head is spinning. The stress and exhaustion of the past day is hitting me hard. Or maybe it’s simply Maron’s proximity, his body heat radiating close to mine.
I turn to face him. The intensity of his stare holds me captive, igniting something within me that I thought was long gone. Memories flood my mind, rushing back with an overwhelming force.
And just like it did all those years ago, my body begins to react. I want to run. I want to stay. I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. I want to tear his clothes off and throw myself at him. The conflicting impulses war within me. And still, for the first time in seven years, I recognize a feeling that I thought I’d long forgotten.
I feel alive.
Truly, undeniably alive.
"Mindy." Maron breaks the heavy silence. His eyes roam over me. "After all this time… you’re still…" He trails off, but the heat in his eyes speaks volumes.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. "I didn’t think I’d see you again," I whisper.
"Neither did I," he says, moving a little closer.
His proximity completely overwhelms my senses. The scent of him - cedarwood, spice, danger - is making my head spin. I feel a tingling down below, bringing back memories from all those years ago. My body’s reaction to Maron Korolev hasn’t changed. No, not in the slightest.
I want to say something, but whatever it is, it gets caught in my throat.
I missed you like crazy.
Sharon is yours.
Why didn’t you tell me you’re alive?
Instead of spilling it all out, I just stand there, gaping at him, engulfed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Seven years of separation, heartache, longing, along with countless sleepless nights spent thinking about him, all culminate in this moment. And now, after all this time, he’s here, thrown back into my life, stirring up memories I thought I’d buried.
"Maron..." I whisper. "I think we have a lot to talk about."
He nods. "Let’s go," he says casually, like we’re picking up a conversation from yesterday.