19. Five Years Ago—Rift Day, Lena
FIVE YEARS AGO—RIFT DAY, LENA
Whoever called it “morning sickness” was a fucking idiot, I think as I flush the contents of my stomach down the toilet for the third time this afternoon alone.
And so was whoever said the waddle only starts towards the end of the second trimester, I add spitefully when I bump into the table with my hip, tipping the vase on it over.
I straighten it back up, giving the lovely pink roses such a look of disdain I’m surprised they don’t wilt on the spot. Women everywhere whinge how hard it is to get their husbands to bring them flowers. But why doesn’t anyone ever talk about how hard it is to get them not to bring them to you?
“I’d prefer a stick of salami,” I tell Oskar every single time, but it’s absolutely no use.
Pig-headed like all men, if with better intentions than most. But no common sense.
I stop to stand by the window, framed by lace-like net curtains that my mother-in-law gave us. She checks that we have them up each time she visits.
But who am I to criticise her? I don’t even know the sex of my child yet, and I’ve already decided that as soon as they’re old enough to crawl around, I’m going to tear these curtains down and blame it on them.
I lay a hand on my abdomen, mostly flat and unchanged except for the firm bulge swelling underneath my belly button. I look at the city in the distance, shrouded in its smog haze.
Oskar has a client somewhere in the centre today. If he hasn’t left yet, he’s going to get caught in rush hour.
A bright flash of light slices right through my eyeballs.
Groaning, I squeeze my eyes shut. But even behind my eyelids is white like burning magnesium.
Before I recover, a cosmic boom echoes, followed by the sound of glass fracturing.
My ears are ringing, and I get light-headed from what feels like a rapid change of air pressure.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
I look.
The window is broken all over, cracks like spiderwebs spreading through the glass. It takes me a moment to focus my eyes on what’s beyond it.
My heart stops.
A scream tears from my lips.
In place of the outdated apartment buildings, tasteless skyscrapers, and heritage-protected historical buildings, there lies only rubble.
A column of smoke and debris is rising towards the purple-tinged sky, the top rapidly spreading into a mushroom-shaped cloud.