He reaches out and touches my shoulder.
“Pixie?” his voice pierces through the shock of everything, and I look up at him. He’s driving us home, his hand on the wheel, his face nervously glancing from me to the road. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I mutter quietly.
“Are you…are you okay?” he asks.
I sit up and take a deep breath. My head is swimming with shock. “I am. I just. I can’t believe Illyin did that. He was going to kill you,” I say, trying to process it all.
“You stopped him. You got him to understand. It’s all over now, I think.”
He brushes his hand over my leg and I nod. It is over now. I think he’s right. But my brother kind of hates me.
“He wants nothing to do with me,” I say quietly.
“He’ll come around, just give him time.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
By the time we get home, I have accepted that Illyin can choose his own reactions in the same way that I can choose who I love. And I can’t be angry with him about that. And maybe, yes, one day he will come around.
In the meantime, I have my own beautiful life to live, and finally, after what feels like forever, I am free to do exactly that.
A weight lifts off my shoulders as he parks the car in front of our home.
He turns the engine off and shifts to look at me. “Come on, let’s get you inside. Maybe you want some tea?” he says, brushing the back of his fingers over my cheek. I smile, leaning into his touch.
“Tea and a hot bath,” I nod, looking up at him.
Anton smiles too, and my entire heart suddenly floods with warmth.
Everything is going to be okay. It really is.
We walk up the steps hand in hand, and he opens the door for us. I glance down at my belly and grin. “I’m suddenly so hungry,” I laugh, surprised that I could possibly be hungry after everything that just happened.
“Well, if my wife is hungry, then she must get all the food her heart desires,” he laughs, scooping me into his arms and carrying me cradled against his chest to the kitchen.
Anton sets me down on the kitchen counter with my legs hanging over the side.
I watch him as he goes to the fridge and tugs it open.
“Are you okay?” I ask, letting my eyes trace over him.
His posture stiffens as he stands in the glowing light of the fridge.
“I am. I thought…I thought I had lost you,” he says without looking at me. I can hear the strain in his voice.
“You’ll never lose me,” I say, slipping off the counter and coming to stand behind him. I slip my arms around his waist.
For a moment, we just stand there in front of the open door of the fridge with the harsh light spilling onto us.
He laughs, wrapping my arms tighter around him as I hold him from behind.
“We have Chinese leftovers and…ingredients to make toasted chicken mayo. If you want something else, I can order it or run to the store quickly?” he says, turning in my arms so that he is facing me.
I pull him away from the fridge by taking a step back and closing it behind him.
The room is darker. It feels more peaceful without the harsh fridge light.
