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What do you mean bytwo muddlers?“Johannes had filled his diaper to the brim!” I call after her, because our son has long since woken up from his parents’ banter.
Both the laundry mountain of a family of three and vacuuming and mopping in our two-story company apartment take their time. But after I have used the morning to take care of my house-husband duties, the surprisingly strong November sun lures me into the garden with Johannes.
We eat our lunch on the terrace: small-cut pasta and home-cooked carrot puree for him, the full-length spaghetti, but with pesto from the jar, for me.
When he gets tired afterwards, I push him in the stroller up to the forest hut and back.
Then I stretch out on one of the deck chairs, wiggling the handle of the stroller every now and then.
Looking up at the blue November sky, I watch the little clouds of sheep pass by.
Johannes moves slightly. Much too early. To keep him from waking up prematurely and being cranky all afternoon, I take him out and put him on my chest so he can hear my heartbeat.
As the midwife in the delivery room told me seven months ago: That way, he’s cradled in the comforting illusion of still being safe in his mama’s belly.
With each of my breaths, the little body, which I hold carefully with both hands, rises and falls.
Johannes’ scent rises, mixing with the smell of the ripe apples on the orchard behind the property line.
I can almost feel the happiness hormones coursing through my veins. Even more than Celine, he is my little big miracle. And at the same time my sore spot.
Because the moment I was allowed to hold him in my arms for the first time, freshly hatched from his mother’s womb and still covered in blood and yellow sebum, I could suddenly understand my father.
With frightening certainty, I could relate that I would not act a bit differently if someone mistreated Johannes the way Konstantin was.
Whoever dared to lay a hand on my son, I would likewise put my hands around his neck. I would squeeze until he or she would never be able to do this again.
Suddenly I realized that I too would be capable of manslaughter: if someone were to hurt this miracle, my son.
And at the same time, everything inside me cried out:Why hadn’t he done anything when it came to me? Why only for Konstantin?
Fucking hell, my producer was—is—a pathetic wimp. A spineless worm. Kneeling huddled underherpumps in the dirt, intent only on catching a few drops of the fame she sprayed. And, of course, enjoying the financial cushion provided byherinheritance.
Johannes moves slightly on my chest, jolted by my heavy breaths at the memory.
I inhale deeply, consciously letting the air flow out of my nose to calm him and myself at the same time.
I am not likehim.Because I would never allow it, whereas he only looked away.At this moment something becomes clear to me:Only because he did so, he slipped into his hopeless situation, in which the only thing left for him to do was strangle her to death.
It may be: By keeping his confession secret, I am burdening myself with guilt before the eyes of the law. But how many have kept silent for how long about what happened to me? I can’t find anything really bad about it.
Besides, she’s dead anyway. Won’t come back to life. And Konstantin. Should I have taken away his father as well?
No. I am the way I am. And that’s better than I ever dared to dream.
Placing my fingers on my son’s golden curls, I look again at the clouds passing by… And at some point, at peace with myself and the world, I close my eyes.
“…two sleeping logs?” Celine’s good-humored voice startles me up.
I squint into the now-cloudless sky, which darkens abruptly as someone leans over me.
In the next moment, soft strands of hair tickle my cheek as her lips gently touch my mouth, and she kisses me.
“I wasn’t asleep,” I claim when we finally end our caresses. “Just watched over Johannes’s sleep.”
“Mmm,” she mutters, and her eyes glitter with mischief. “And your snoring, which could be heard all the way into the living room, was nothing but camouflage…?”
“You know me inside and out,” I smirk at her as she picks up our son.
