Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
To build a family.
A family.
It’s crazy how you only realize what’s truly important when you risk losing the people you love. The dream job and independence I mourned so much seem trivial in the light of the situation we’re facing. As long as we can have the kids back, I don’t care about those objectives that once upon a time meant everything to me. Passions and professional goals can be adapted and replaced. People can’t. I just want to hug Sophie and hold her in my arms. I want to cook for the boys and watch them play soccer in the yard. I want to rock my baby in my arms and hush her cries. In the face of this terrible danger, all I want is to be a good mother.
A good mother.
The responsibility scares me. I haven’t had a family for a long time. Not really. Not since my dad died. My dad was my pillar. I’ve never been as close to my mom, not like Mattie. At that time, Mattie was already married and living with Jared in Stellenbosch. I was living alone in Cape Town. The nasty uncovering of my dad’s secret family hung like a dark cloud over our heads. Dad’s death left scars on all of us, but the revelation of his affair shattered the foundations of our family.
Ever since, I’ve been adrift. I thought my friendship with Colin was the anchor I needed. Just as well we didn’t go through with the wedding. Colin and I would never have made it as lovers. Now that I had a taste of how raw, fierce, and devastating passion can be in the arms of my husband, I know it with certainty. I can never touch another man in the same way I touch Angelo. My husband alone can make my body come alive. There’s always been only one man for me.
Angelo Russo.
Right from the start.
The love I felt for him is still there, lying dormant under fertile soil like a grain of seed. My guilt wouldn’t allow it to germinate and grow into its potential with the strength of a pure, beautiful flower. And as I wait in the most anxious moment of my life, the last thread that keeps me from embracing my feelings falls away. As I shed my guilt, a sense of calmness washes over me. I already chose Angelo, but I’m finally free to love him.
By dusk, I force myself to have dinner as I was too nervous to eat lunch. Even though I’m not hungry, I have to think about the baby growing inside me. A dull headache is building behind my temples from the stress. I go upstairs and take the box of painkillers from the medicine kit. After reading the instructions to ensure it’s safe to take during pregnancy, I drink a pill with a glass of water.
I look at the phone in my hand. I’ve been carrying it everywhere with me, refusing to put it down for a second.
It’s been hours.
What’s going on?
Shall I call again?
What if Angelo is in the middle of something dangerous?
No. He’ll let me know what’s happening when he can.
Too scared I’ll miss a call from him, I don’t shower. I only dress in a clean T-shirt and yoga pants, wanting to be ready when Angelo comes home. In my head, I keep on repeating that he’ll arrive soon with the kids. I can’t think about the alternative.
In the reflection of the mirror, my face is pale and my hair disheveled from dragging my fingers through the strands in a nervous reaction all day. I can’t let the children see me like this. I’ll frighten them looking like a mad, wild woman.
I’m brushing out my hair in front of the mirror when I hear it.
Pop.
I freeze.
It sounds like a gunshot.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
My stomach contracts into a ball. That’s definitely gunfire. The echo ripples through the valley. The sounds come from a distance, but that doesn’t reassure me, not when a war breaks out and shots are fired left, right, and center.
Dropping the hairbrush, I grab the phone from the dresser and dial Angelo’s number. A beep sounds in my ear before a voice recording comes through the line.
The number you dialed does not exist. Please consult your telephone directory.
What?
The phone shakes in my hand as I stare dumbfoundedly at it.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The bedroom windows look out over the sea. I throw down the phone and run to the guest room on the opposite side of the hallway where the windows give a view of the hills and the road. I peer out into the darkness, not switching on the light, and then I break out in a cold sweat.
The forest is alight with the sparks of a gunfight. Like a string of firecrackers, the lights blast through the denseness of the trees. I’m frozen to the spot, taken over by terror. It’s much closer than I thought, just a few hundred meters from the house.