Chapter 6
Fred
I look down at the thin, silvery mark stretching across the lower curve of her stomach. My breath catches, the nervousness still coursing through my veins like a cold current.
“Surgery?” I ask her, my voice dropping into a rough whisper.
She nods slowly, her gaze fixed on the floor before she finally meets my eyes. The weight of years of silence seems to press down on her shoulders as she steps closer.
“What happened, Ana?” I ask, the words barely audible.
She takes a shaky breath, her fingers trailing along the edge of the pale skin.
“I lost my baby,” she whispers. “It happened during my former marriage. The child died in my womb, and there were severe complications... so much blood. They couldn’t get the baby out safely through my vagina, and it turned into a massive medical emergency.
They had to cut me open right then to save my life. That is where the mark came from.”
The revelation hits me with staggering force.
I look at her bare body, really seeing the trauma she has been hiding behind her clothes, and a wave of profound sorrow takes hold of me.
My chest tightens until it aches. I imagine the horror and the absolute loneliness she must have felt, carrying such a heavy, devastating loss while I spent three years focused entirely on my own minor worries and hiding from my own skin.
“Oh, Ana,” I say, my voice turning thick and rough. The hot moisture finally spills over my lashes, blurring her outline as I reach out. My hands tremble violently as I gently cup her face. “I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry you had to go through that.”
She lets out a long, trembling breath and tries to wave off the apology, her fingers reaching up to wipe the fresh tears from her own eyes. She blinks back the rest of the wetness, forcing her posture to steady as she looks right into my face.
“Do you find this ugly, Fredrick?” she asks, her palm resting near the mark on her skin. “Will you stop loving me because of this?”
“No,” I answer instantly, my voice firm and absolute. “Never.”
“Exactly,” she whispers, a small, knowing smile breaking through her pained expression. “What I am in love with is you, Fred. Not your body. It is because it is you.”
I swallow hard, my mind warring with the desire to believe her. Before I can process the words, she takes a slow breath, her expression shifting to something more guarded.
“I went to the hotel, Fred. I went to meet my boss.”
The admission hits the room like a heavy weight.
I swallow the dryness in my throat, forcing myself to take a deep breath in and out.
I look at her face, reading the lines of her posture.
“Okay. It’s fine. I understand. I know...
uh, I don’t know what to say, but I know I was prepped for whatever you would tell me.
And I think you wanted me to know, too.”
“Because of the tracker?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
I give a slow nod. “Yes. I didn’t want to think you went to see anyone, though...”
She places her index finger firmly over my lips, silencing the defense. “Let me finish.”
I go still, waiting.
“I admit I wanted to sleep with him,” she confesses. For a split second, her features contort with a raw mix of pain, shock, and deep embarrassment. “But I couldn’t. Because when he so much as held my hand, I felt a deep wave of disgust. And all I could think about was you. Just you.”
Her hand moves higher, her palm flattening against the jagged, uneven texture of my purple and pink skin. Her eyes cloud with moisture, the wetness mirroring the tears that are already stinging my own lids.
“I would never,” she whispers, her voice shaking violently. “I would never think less of you just because of this.”
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she begins to kneel on the floor right in front of me.
Her eyes remain trained on mine as her head bends forward.
Her lips hover just an inch above the crater in my stomach, and then she presses a soft, lingering kiss directly to the scar.
She pulls back for a fraction of a second, then bends again, kissing the marred tissue a second time.
I lift my head toward the ceiling, my eyelids blinking rapidly to force back the hot tears of gratitude gathering in my eyes. A massive rush of relief exhales from my lungs, the physical tension draining from my joints.
She stands back up, and I look at her face. “Thank you,” I breathe.
“No, thank you,” she counters, her fingers reaching up to touch the side of my face. “Thank you for telling me something as deep as this. Although... you were supposed to trust me from the beginning.”
“I was scared,” I admit, my throat tightening as I look down at her. “I didn’t want to risk losing you. Do you know how much I wanted to touch you over these past three years?”
She shakes her head slowly, a tear finally escaping her lower lash line to roll down her cheek. “No, I don't. And the distance made me feel unwanted.”
“I want to touch you,” I say, the raw admission sliding out past my teeth as my gaze drifts down to the full, heavy curve of her breasts.
A small smile breaks through her tears, and she cups my cheek with her palm. “The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.”
A breathy, watery laugh escapes my throat, and she laughs with me. It is the exact scriptural verse she has thrown against my wall of defense over and over again during our marriage.
I look at her, the gravity of the night settling between us. “Do you forgive me?”
She nods her head without a second of hesitation. “Please, Fred. Do with me what you want to do with me.”