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“Is that how you kiss your wife?”
A deep, low chuckle leaves him, and I bask in its sound. His hands tug me in, so my chest hits his torso, and he mashes his lips against mine. It’s strong and commanding. The way he kisses me leaves no doubt in my mind that he loves me. It settles my heart and stomach as I cling to the connection we share.
“Call me when you’re on your way home. I want to have dinner with you tonight, away from my family.”
It’s amazing how I can go from being uncertain to knowing everything is right in the world by the smallest bit of his affection.
He starts walking out but stops and comes back to me, placing another kiss on my lips. It’s like he can’t get enough of me. When we’re together, I’m all he sees, then when he’s gone for too long, it’s like he forgets I’m here waiting for him.
I’mstuckinthemiddle of the backseat with three bodyguards and a driver. The men do not talk to me or one another. It’s boring and suffocating. When my mother’s home comes into view, we pull to a stop, and they step out, sweeping the area before they give me the okay to leave the car.
The nurses smile at me as soon as I walk in. “I’m so sorry I haven’t visited on my normal days,” I say as I sign in. “How is my mother?”
Writing out my name, I pause, waffling on which last name to write, since it’s not common knowledge that I’ve been married.
From behind, the head nurse walks in. “Aly.” She pauses, and my eyes come up from having written down justAly. “You are no longer on the pre-approved guest list.”
My heart stills. “What?” I’m the one person who visits her. The nurse gives nothing away, her face emotionless. I have had many warm conversations with her, so I’m confused as to where this is coming from.
“You are no longer allowed to be on the premises. I must ask you to leave.” For a brief moment, sympathy shines before it’s swept away, making me unsure if I had seen it at all.
“She needs company. She gets sick less when she’s not lonely.”
“Rest assured, her being sick is not from being lonely. She has been receiving the same number of visiting hours as normal with your absence.” It feels like she’s accusing me of being a bad daughter because I haven’t been around. I had no choice.
“Who said I couldn’t come in? She’s my mother and needs me.”
“That does not matter. Now leave.”
“Will she be okay?”
“I’m sorry. I cannot give you that type of information.”
I’m on the verge of tears. I miss my mother so badly, and hearing she is sick… What if the last time I visited her was my last?
“Let me see her for one minute,” I plead.
She picks up the phone, asking for security. I don’t want to leave, but I’m being moved out the doors by Luca’s men. My feet drag on the ground as I try to keep their hands off my arms. One second, I’m fighting my own security; the next, I search behind me, hoping maybe by some miracle I’ll see my mother. I go back and forth as my heart hurts that I can’t visit the woman who raised me with all of her love. Dropping her whole life, for me to have a chance at one.
I keep trying to free myself of their grasp but can’t. The guards are too strong for me. I’m placed in the back like a child having a tantrum, the doors child locked, keeping me in place. The car leaves the parking lot, my opinion unimportant. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stew over the situation that unfolded. A tear springs loose, and I wipe it away with my palm. All I wanted was to see my mother. Proving to myself that she is healthy and not growing worse by the day. The worry that grows deep in my chest won’t remove itself until I lay eyes on her. Dread and guilt over not being with her claw into me, and nothing will make it go away until she is in front of me.
When we stop next, we’re in front of my “yoga studio.” The men follow me like before. “I need a moment alone.”
“Luca said not to let you out of our sight,” one of the bodyguards says, keeping his head straight.
“Of course he did.” I unlock the doors and walk in. Nothing has changed since I was here last. Yet, I feel different.
Sitting down at my desk, I allow my tears to come instead of forcing them away. I don’t hold back, not caring who hears. I miss my mom. I’m worried for her health and don’t think I would be able to ever get over it if my last time visiting her was the final time. She has been my rock, my “person,” my whole life. My body shakes, frightened that I may never get to see her again. I have this feeling like she may not make it. She has been getting increasingly worse each year.
My stomach rolls with nausea at the turmoil that runs through me. Part of me doesn’t know who to blame. Do I blame myself? Luca for stealing me away. Or my father for hurting me as much as I’ve probably hurt him.
My yoga studio phone rings, and I ignore it, unable to control my quivering voice. When it rings a second time, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my heart but never settling it. “Hello?” I answer. The men’s ears perk up, watching my every move. Turning in my chair, I put my back toward them.
“Hello, daughter,” my father’s deep, cold voice is heard on the other end of the line. I swallow the lump in my throat that wants to break free. “Do not say a word.”
Talking to my father now is wrong, but he also holds the key to my mother. My heart begins to pound in my chest. I hear footsteps shuffling, and my heart beats stronger. I try to hold onto the phone without showing my slight tremble, but it’s impossible. My hand still shakes more than I would like.
“Sorry, we’re not starting any new yoga classes anytime soon. Please check back on our website for when classes may start again,” I say when one of the men walk in front of me, eyeing me like I’m doing something wrong.
