Considering me for a few more seconds, Cynthia leans closer to me and, adjusting her tone to mine, says, “He was very, um, gloomy, most of the time, very serious. I don’t think I ever heard him laugh. And he tends to drink every day.”
My brows lift in surprise. I know Alex enjoys drinking a glass of whiskey every night, but is it more than that? “Really?”
“I mean…” I see Cynthia hesitating, her gaze going down.
“You can trust me,” I remind her. “I won’t tell him.”
I know it’s hard for her to open up. After all, she doesn’t know me. Yet I keep my eyes pinned on her. Cynthia finally looks back at me, and, keeping her voice just as low, she says, “Your dad had to move in, you know. He was afraid Mr. Van Dieren had become an alcoholic or something.”
My heart tightens at her words, and, matching her tone, I ask, “And, um, did you hear him speaking with my mom?”
“Not much, no. When Ms. Hagen comes here, they barely talk. Most of the time it’s only Maria who lets her in.” She pauses, thinking something through. “Oh, but they had a fight once.”
“About?” I ask immediately.
“Um, I think it was regarding someone leaving you in peace, not sure who though.”
The more I hear Cynthia talk, the faster my heart seems to beat. “Was it my mom who said that?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I just heard a few words here and there. It was a long time ago. But I think so.”
I feel so tense and nauseous at the idea of it that I simply say, “Thank you,” and leave the conversation at that. After all, Cynthia has just confirmed what I already knew—my nightmare was not only an unconscious fear, but also a glimpse into my future reality if I don’t prevent it from happening.
Then she walks me slowly back to the bedroom, where I sit on the bed. There she helps me put on my beige bra and thong. After I raise my arms, Cynthia pulls the dress down and closes the zip on the back. To my surprise, she brings me a pair of flat camel sandals, the type I love, the type that goes well with everything. Once I’m fully dressed, she asks, “What do you usually do with your hair?”
“Um, I just let it dry.”
“Any makeup? I’m not a certified artist, but I’ve followed many tutorials on YouTube.”
I laugh at her comment. Cynthia is such an amazing woman. No wonder they chose her to be my nurse. “I’m all good. Just gloss if you have any.”
She goes to the bathroom and comes back with the exact same gloss I used to have. “Here.” This one, though, hasn’t been opened yet, but it’s exactly the same.
All of a sudden, we are promptly interrupted by a knocking on the door and Maria coming in. “Miss? A certain Emma is downstairs waiting for you.”
Oh my God! I gasp instantly. “Emma?” I repeat, barely believing it. I try to stand up, but my body holds me back just as fast. Cringing, I look at Cynthia, who takes me by the arm and helps me up again. “Dr. Jade said you’ll need a couple of days before you can walk on your own,” she reminds me.
Holding the walker, we leave the bedroom, and as we slowly cross the corridor, I can’t help but wonder how I am gonna walk down the stairs if I can barely bend my legs. But Cynthia stops in front of two glass doors instead. “Oh,” I utter. “That wasn’t there before.”
She presses the button and smiles at the little ding when the doors open. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
As we get into the lift, she presses the button for the ground floor, which is where the dining room, kitchen, lounge bar, and outdoor terrace lie. Jeez, I can’t believe Alex installed a lift here. The idea that he has been so obsessed with all these details, from clothes, underwear, and shoes to the medical treatments and the lift, brings a wave of unanticipated emotion, leaving me almost on the verge of tears. He never gave up on me—even after so many months in a coma and with little to no chance of ever waking up again. And that’s something I will never forget.
“Babe!” I hear as the doors open. “Fuck! I can’t believe it!”
A big grin settles on my lips upon recognizing the familiar voice. “Emma!” As soon as we step out of the lift, Emma plunges me into a hug that nearly leaves me out of breath, but it feels too good to say something. “Oh, Emma…” With my head resting on hers, I close my eyes, treasuring this moment as much as I can.
“I missed you so damn much,” she whispers in my ear.
Matching her low tone, I say, “I missed you too.”
Once she releases me, Cynthia helps me walk toward the lounge.
Emma promptly asks, “Um, what happened? You can’t walk?”
“Not much, no. My muscles are still very weak,” I tell her. “But in a week or two, I should be fine. I’ve got an intensive training including aqua gym and electrotherapy.” And as I look at her, I can’t help but ask, “What happened to your long hair?” I realize she is now sporting a short bob with bangs. “Why did you cut it so short?”
“It’s been a rough year,” she confesses before pressing her lips against my cheek and embracing me tightly in her arms again. “I’m so happy you’re finally awake.”
“Thanks,” I reply, reveling in her hug. “I’m so happy to see you.”
Afterward, I observe her for a moment and notice how she has started to cover her chest, neck, and shoulders with new tattoos. A big butterfly with open wings now covers her décolletage, and as we reach the lounge room, I can’t help but also ask, “So your parents are finally okay with them?”
“Yeah… A small reward for me getting out of jail.”
“Always the same, huh?” I tease.
She gives me a big, bright grin. “Always the same, babe.”
“What have you been doing this year?” I ask her as we sit on the sofa. “Dad told me about the pandemic. I might not be able to go back to Columbia because of it.”
“Yeah. The world is going nuts. I just came back to New York two weeks ago,” she tells me. “Fucking cunt I was. I should’ve stayed in Saint-Tropez. But Laura was planning an underground concert for her birthday party and I wanted to attend. As soon as I landed, those motherfuckers started asking me to wear a mask. Heck, even on the street, and then someone at her party called the cops! I’ve got no idea how they found out.”
“And the police put you in jail because of that?”
“Well”—Emma lets out a quick chuckle—“I also told them to fuck off and shove their masks up their—”
“How was Saint-Tropez?”
“Oh, it was great. The beach clubs, the vibe, the food, everything was dope. I’m thinking of flying back there ASAP.”
“Do you mind staying until my engagement party?”
“What?!” Emma finally looks down at my left hand and grasps it. “Fuck! I can’t believe it! Damn, girl.” She then observes the ring more attentively. “That’s a beautiful ring. When did he propose?”
“Um, actually, I did it when I woke up.”
“Oh, wow. You don’t waste time.”
“I don’t want to,” I tell her. “I… I had a terrible nightmare…” As I look her in the eye, I announce, “I’ve got a feeling he’s gonna leave me sometime soon.”