Chapter 40
As soon as I saw him, the feeling reignited. Damn it, why did he have to show up asking for forgiveness? Life taught me to be cautious, and I’ve become a woman who doesn’t forgive easily, but seeing him brought back memories of how happy we were.
I go into the house and head straight to my room, and—bless those pregnancy hormones—I cry my eyes out. My grandmother comes upstairs and I tell her he was there, and she, wise woman that she is, simply says:
“Sweetheart, if you care about him, why not forgive? After all, you both made mistakes.”
“I know, Grandma, but the way I was treated when I left that house hurt me deeply.”
“I understand, Amy. You’ve suffered a lot in your life, and I get how you feel. Well, I’m here to support you, so whatever you decide, you can count on me.”
“Thank you, Grandma. You’re wonderful.”
She gives me a hug, and it feels so good to have that warmth. After she leaves, I keep thinking about our conversation, and yes, I love Owen, I love Ellie and I miss her so much, but right now I need time.
I stay home and skip my walks for a few days. I have an appointment, repeat the tests, and everything is going as expected—my baby is developing beautifully and I can’t wait to hold him in my arms.
The next morning I go out for my walk, finish my lap around the park, and sit on my usual bench.
My belly is getting bigger every day—they say after six months it really starts to show.
I’m stroking it when I sense a presence beside me.
I look up and see Owen—what is he doing here?
—he looks at my belly and hiding is no longer an option. I wanted to tell him, but not now.
“Hi, Amélie,” he greets me in a gentle voice I’ve never heard before. “I just wanted to know how you two are doing.” He points to my belly.
“How long have you known?” He’s silent for a long moment.
“I saw you here at the park a few days ago. I just didn’t want to approach you.” He’s lying—he only found out because of the photos he received.
“I need to go.” I stand up and start walking, but he grabs my arm.
“Amélie, give me a chance to fix everything, especially now.”
“I’m sorry, Owen, but I need time.”
He releases my arm and I keep walking back to my house. His visits to the park become frequent. Sometimes he just watches me from the car, sometimes he gets out and sits beside me without saying a word, just staying there until I leave. That goes on for a month.
The next day I go for a walk, but he doesn’t show up.
I find it strange and realize I miss him.
I look everywhere but even his car isn’t there.
He must have gotten tired of waiting, I think.
I head back home. Today I have my monthly appointment again, and then I’m going to the mall with my friend to buy some clothes I still need for my baby.
I still haven’t decided on a name. I need to do that soon because my son will be here before I know it and I don’t even know what to call him.
His room is already done and it turned out beautiful.
Whatever’s still missing, I’ll buy today.
I’m nervous about the delivery, and it feels like each passing day takes longer than the last.
Grandma said the end of pregnancy feels like the slowest part, and honestly, it feels like I’ll be stuck at seven months forever. I smile and place my hand on my belly. My son moves, and I grin. I love feeling him.
“We’re late for the appointment.”
“Sorry, dear, I was taking care of some things.”
“Then let’s go, I’m dying to see my baby.”
We leave the house and minutes later arrive at the hospital.
I give my name at reception and I’m called right away.
Today Grandma is the one coming in with me.
Now that I’m almost at the end, they take turns being there for the ultrasound.
I smile, remembering the day everyone wanted to come in, but the nurse wouldn’t let them, so they had a mini meeting to decide who would go next.
“We’re in the home stretch, Amélie. You can keep up with the walks—it’ll help with delivery. Keep watching your diet because your blood sugar is much better, and starting in the eighth month, you’ll come in every week. Now let’s see how this big baby is doing.”
“We can’t wait.”
I go into the room and lie down. Today I’m wearing a dress again—my clothes don’t fit anymore, and it’s easier during the exam. The doctor comes in and begins. I’m amazed every time I come here. I never get tired of looking at that screen and seeing my baby’s features.
“Everything’s fine. Amniotic fluid is excellent, heartbeat is very good, size a little above normal, and the baby’s weight is right on track. Now just keep monitoring things and don’t gain more weight than this, Amélie. Try to hold back a little.”
“You got it, doctor. I’ll do what you said.”
“Schedule your appointment for next month. If there are any complications, you can call me.”
We finally leave. I’m happy with everything going so well. Now it’s just a matter of getting what’s still needed and enjoying the rest of the pregnancy. My grandmother and my father head home while I go with my friend to the mall. Today we’re going shopping.
I walk into the first store and immediately fall in love with everything. I buy some outfits and socks, then head out to check out the other stores too. After almost two hours, I’m exhausted and loaded down with bags. I sit on a bench to rest for a bit.
“Hey, I’m going to grab some water. Do you want some?”
“I do, but first I'm going to the restroom.”
“Okay, I'll wait for you here then.”
I get up and walk to the women’s restroom, which isn’t far.
I really need to go—every day that passes, it seems like my bladder fills up faster.
I use the restroom and go to wash my hands, but when I look in the mirror and see a strange man standing there, just as I’m about to turn around, he pins me against the counter, pressing on my belly.
“You’re hurting me,” I say, already desperate.
“It’s supposed to hurt. So you can feel everything I went through in prison.”
“I don’t even know you, you idiot.”
“But the doctor knows who I am. Now shut up and let’s get out of here.”
He puts a cloth over my mouth, and it has a strong smell that makes me completely groggy. Then everything goes dark and I see nothing more.
I wake up hours later, sitting on the floor on a dirty cloth.
I touch my belly and thank God my baby is moving.
I look around and realize the whole place is made of wood.
I get up and go to the window, trying to open it, but I can’t.
I try the door—it’s locked too, so I start pounding on it and screaming.
“Hey, is anyone there? Get me out of here!”
No response. My hand is already hurting from pounding so much. I give up and go back to sit on the floor where I was, stroking my belly and crying as I talk to my baby.
“We’re going to get out of here, baby boy. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
Suddenly the door opens and another man enters, his face stern as he looks at me sitting on the floor.
“You better stay quiet if you don’t want more problems. Here’s your dinner, and if I hear one more scream, I’ll put you to sleep.”
He delivers his warning and leaves, setting a glass of water and a piece of bread with something inside on the floor—something I don’t recognize, but of course I’m not going to eat it.
I need to get out of here, find a way. I’ve never been afraid to face men—I used to fight them all the time on the mat—but I have to think about my son.
Two days passed. The man who brought me food now was more sociable. He told me to eat or I’d get sick, and that if his boss wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. I kept turning that over in my mind—would no one find me?—when I heard a very loud noise.