37. Isabella
thirty-seven
Isabella
Pictures flash in front of me. A little girl that runs in the garden. And not any garden, my mother’s rose garden, the one I used to play in as I watched her tend to her roses. When the girl turns, I can’t see her face because the image has become black.
No, come back. I want to see her.
The sound of beeping. What’s that? Where is it coming from?
I can hear murmurs of different voices.
“Who did this?” Cecilia. Where is her voice coming from?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rose garden is full of flowers, the garden that my father made for my mother. One they grew together since the first day of their marriage. With my hair down my back, I’m wearing my flower print dress that my mother sewed. The summer rays of sunshine blind my eyes as I walk barefoot on the grass.
My mother sits on a blanket with a book on her lap as she reads, and as I approach her, she smiles at me. She raises her hand for me to take, and I do. I take a seat next to her on the blanket and she frames my face with both her hands and smiles at me.
“You are not supposed to be here, Bella.”
“I missed you, Mama.”
“I missed you too, honey.” The laugh of a small girl steals my attention and I see her again. The girl.
“She is such a beautiful girl. I’m sorry you couldn’t meet her.”
“Who is she?” I ask.
My mother looks at me apologetically. “You gave her to me, don’t you remember? She is part of you.”
My eyes fill with tears, and I look at the little girl. “I want to meet her.”
“I’m sorry, Bella, but you can’t. It is not your time yet. There are great things waiting for you and none of them are here.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I turn my head toward the sound.
And my mother and the girl disappear.
NO!
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“It has been a week. Why isn’t she waking up?” I know that voice. But where is it coming from?
“She will wake up when she’s ready.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Make it stop. My head is pounding. I need this to stop.
Beep. Beep. Beep. This time it’s louder and it’s hurting my head.
“Wake up, sweetheart.” I don’t recognize the voice this time.
My eyelids are so heavy, but still, I try to open them. This time, the blinding light makes my head hurt.
“That’s it. Welcome back,” a woman beside me says. I try to focus on her face, but I can’t open my eyes. They are too heavy.
I try to speak, but my throat is dry.
“Here, take a sip. A small one.” I do as she says, still wondering who the woman is and where the hell I am.
The water slips down my sore throat. I wince when I realize my body hurts. Everything hurts, even my face.
“The doctor will be here any minute now. Relax. Don’t exhaust yourself thinking too much.”
Again, I do as I’m told because what’s the point of arguing? My head hurts. I can’t open my eyes properly, and I’m tired.
Just as I want to close my eyes, the door opens and Salvatore enters, followed by a doctor.
Salvatore.
When I see him, a flash of memory pops into my mind. The last thing he said to me before he started to ignore me.
I can’t see his face properly; I plead in my mind for him to come to me, but he doesn’t. He stays at the foot of my bed as the doctor checks me. My eyes search his, but he isn’t looking at me. He is looking at something behind me. I take my eyes off his and wait for the doctor to finish.
“You were lucky, and it looks like you have a strong will for living. When they brought you in, you were in a terrible condition.”
“Why does everything hurt?” I croak.
“The nurse will give you something for that, but for what you have been through, it’s a miracle you’re still alive. You have six broken ribs, and one of them punctured your lungs. Concussion and swelling on your brain from what only can be a hit on your head. But you are a strong young woman. You will heal,” the doctor says, and before he leaves, I ask him what he didn’t say.
I move my hand to my belly, trying to feel the little human living inside me, but I feel empty.
“My baby?” My voice shakes as I can barely utter the words.
He looks at me with an apologetic look in his eyes. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save it.”
Tears fall down my face. The hurt doctor’s voice became just a whisper the moment he said the word sorry .
Gentle hands wrap me in a hug, and the smell of roses makes me cry. Cecilia. When did she get here? I didn’t even see her.
I cry in her arms, wondering why Salvatore isn’t the one that holds me. I should cry in his arms. He should tell me everything will be okay.
I need him to tell me everything will be okay.
But he isn’t.
And the emptiness becomes unbearable as I cry for everything I lost.
For the life we could have.
For the dreams that shattered.
I cry until the nurse comes back into my room and gives me something so I fall asleep.
The next time I wake up is after my nightmare. The memories of what happened to me. And there is a blank space for the days I was unconscious that I don’t know anything about.
I lost my baby, who I promised to protect and couldn’t. Someone beside my bed stirs, and in the dim light, I can see Cece. Tears fall down my face as I remember how I cried in her arms and not Salvatore's. She opens her eyes, instantly standing and leaning over me, carefully embracing me.
“I’m so glad you’re awake. I was so worried about you.”
I say nothing as I just hug her and cry in her arms again.
“I know. It will get better. Just get it all out. I’m here.”
I cry until there are no tears left.
I search her face. “I thought you were in Europe.”
She smiles. “I was, but I flew back the same day I was informed what happened to you.”
“How did you find out?”
“Salvatore called me. He said you need someone by your side when you wake up.” I nod. Sadness overwhelms me. Did he call her because he didn’t want to be by my side?
“Until you woke up, he never left you, not for a moment.” I try to feel something, but my heart is too broken. Where is he now? “He was so worried. Until the moment you woke up, he was unbearable. I even think he made a few nurses cry,” she jokes.
I search for the flutter in my heart at the mention of his torment, knowing he cared. But I can’t feel a thing.
He isn’t here to tend to my broken heart.
He isn’t here because he broke it.
He broke it with the words of hatred toward the child I lost.
He broke it with false promises and the hope he gave me.
I feel emptiness inside my belly and my heart.
Can something so broken be fixed?