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“We were terrified that one day we would find her dead in her room, Logan, or the police would call to inform us about the body they’ve discovered. She was acting strangely. Since she was on her own, it made us feel she might have suicidal thoughts. We thought that maybe she needed a break from her grief, and then start talking with someone who has experience dealing with such trauma,” Raine tries to explain, her voice cracking.
I think of the pregnant woman at home, who somehow survived the life-altering event and then shocking experience at the mental hospital. No wonder we fight so much.
Cassandra relies on self-sufficiency and independence from others. She tries to control every aspect of her life to protect herself from prejudice stripping away her ability to make choices. Naturally, my wealth is a threat because it represents the power she hasn’t got.
The fortress she built around the heart is meant to protect her. Cassandra’s sisters will have to do their own reckoning to fix what has been ripped apart. Maybe in the process, they’ll find new, even stronger, threads that will hold them together.
Cassandra is a fighter. But I want her to learn not to be afraid to show weakness. I wish she would be able to let go of the fears and find comfort without the need to hide, or concern of being locked up again, or judged.
It’s time to use my bossy nature to nudge her into finding common ground, and earn her trust.
Chapter 14
Little Fighters
~Cas
sandra~
Thirty-three weeks
I wake up to the sound of the beating wind against my window, like an unwelcome visitor asking to be let in. Bare trees meet my eyes as their stripped hands are thrown over their heads in the air, dancing.
It’s Christmas Eve, and nature looks so mysterious. A few very fragile snowflakes start to fall from the sky and kiss my window, dissolving onto the surface. The air fills up with the small dancers who soon become tiny wet kisses on the ground.
The whooshing winds once again bring the memories of my children, and calls upon Sandra like a tide wanting to escape the glass prison.
“Ethan, Nate!” she calls them.
This time, I hear Ethan’s singing voice. My little boy sounds full of joy. The song bounces off the walls, waking his sleeping mother. Sandra’s heart jumps with a need to see her little munchkin, most likely jumping on his bed and trying to stir everyone awake. We merge for that yearning moment. I let her in, needing to feel this torment with her.
“Please,” I beg, desperate to catch a glimpse of his angelic face as it starts to blur from memory. As I descend the stairs, my heart’s full of anguish. My eyes settle on an empty room, and my aching heart plummets to the ground.
I can’t be too late! I call his name, crying for him to come back and fill this room with joy, something I often felt in the different life I once had.
“Ethan, Nate!” My body becomes lighter and tingles with warnings. Compelling need by my heart coupled with intense demand, I walk toward the glass door overlooking the garden and open it, trying to catch their voices.
Standing on the porch, I hear the tranquil windy music playing for the snowflake ballet. My heart squeezes in my chest as the dead nature shows no signs of two boys I yearn to see.
Nooooo! I double over, gasping, shaking with the intense agony encasing my body. The pain’s choking me and dark spots blur my vision. My legs, too weak to support my weight, crumble beneath me.
Before I surrender to the chilling darkness, my eyes snap open. Thump. Thump. Someone is demanding my attention. Firm kicks are pulling me back. I suck in air that I’m finally able to draw in my lungs. Tears of relief start to roll down my shocked face. Those two peanuts are demanding to live, fighting for my heartbeats.
Tears stream down my cheeks as the truth shakes me to my core. I’m jeopardizing their lives. Sandra will try to get out whenever I feel my guard is down. She misses them, and I miss them too. The emotional loss that we both suffer needs an outlet.
No matter how sturdy her prison is, the love for her children is much greater. Even if that means I must break down the walls and set her free. I must fight for the future and our family’s well-being. After sitting on the porch and rubbing my belly to appease my little fighters, I regain my bearings enough to walk inside.
In the living room, I take in the festive surroundings. The tears wash my face as the fear of the situation I got us into still lingers. Shaking like a leaf, I wrap myself in a blanket and sit on the carpet close to the burning fireplace. The Christmas tree stands decorated in blue and silver hues, and casts an elegant light in the room.
I apologize to my little girl and boy for scaring them. “I will fix this, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” My vow brings memories from the therapy.
“Cassandra, you cannot live like this anymore, and your stubbornness to keep everyone away won’t help you deal with the anxiety and panic attacks. These episodes will get more frequent and out of your hands.
“You don’t trust anyone, that’s why you locked away Sandra’s memories and pain. But your heart tries to reconnect and to heal. This keeps your emotions in a controlling grip that’s doomed to fail you.”
The memory of my therapist’s words finally resonates with me. I skipped so many parts of the grieving process, locking everything away, but now my emotions are a whirlwind and seeping through the cracks.
I make a call to Dr. Neil. “Laisa, it's me, could you please come over? We need to talk.”
