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EDEN
Doubt slowsmy feet as the wide door creaks open, revealing the house that used to be my home. The dull wooden floor in the hall groans under our footsteps as Nikolai and I venture into the empty house. Several corners of the floral wallpaper peel from the wall, and cobwebs float above our heads just out of reach. This place is a shell of what it used to be as hints of a happier past materialize.
“It looks like no one’s been inside for years,” I say quietly.
Faded pictures hang on the walls, and my heart clenches in my chest as I stop to look at my family frozen in the frames.
Nikolai grabs hold of my arm. “Eden, you don’t have to do this.”
Gently, I take his hand away. “I’m okay now.” I straighten my spine. “I want to see it, Nikolai. I need to know, even if it guts me.” I pick up a dusty photo frame from a small hall table.
My fingers trace the outlines of the smiling faces in the picture—my parents embracing each other, their love forever on display.I’ve never seen a photo of my mother before and marvel at her auburn hair.
“They look so happy.” I stare at her face in the faded image and treasure this rare glimpse of her.
“You do look like her,” Nikolai whispers as he looks over my shoulder.
We continue through the old mansion, finding more remnants—pillows scattered across a floor, idyllic landscapes on a wall, and a book with dog-eared pages left open on an ottoman. Nikolai watches as I navigate the minefield of memories surrounding us. I should feel sad, seeing the ruins of a happy life, but I don’t. I feel a lightness at witnessing the proof of their love.
We reach the kitchen, a massive room with an old-fashioned table and granite counters along the wall. A collection of copper pots hangs above a work island, and I run my finger along the surface. For an abandoned home, there’s not much dust. I flick what’s on my finger off and imagine the laughter as meals were prepared and my family gathered around the table. I stare at an antique highchair pushed against the wall and alphabet magnets on the stainless-steel fridge.
“I can still feel it, can’t you?” I ask Nikolai. “I feel like the memories stayed behind after the people left.”
“They were happy here,” he speaks softly, with respect. “Inside the house, it is so different.”
We walk into the dining room through the kitchen. A chair is pulled away from the formal table, and a bottle of whisky sits on the surface between two short glasses. The scene is out of place, and I frown as it intrudes on my memories.
“I knew this place looked too clean for an abandoned house.” Nikolai picks up the bottle and scans the label. There’s no dust on the table where the bottle was. “Maybe your uncle’s caretaker likes to drink more than dust.”
“Do you think someone is here now?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. We stand still like statues or that hideous gargoyle we drove past, waiting for a noise that doesn’t belong. Nothing. The house is the only thing creaking as the wind blows against the old windows.
“Eden,” Nikolai says suddenly. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I reply and quickly turn away from him.
His eyes search mine as he comes closer.
“I’m okay.” I lie convincingly, I hope. But I’m still shaken by Nikolai’s confession. I wonder what really made him stop. My parents knew they were in love from the start, and this house proves it. Except for this room, I see love everywhere I look. They knew from the start, but we didn’t. Why am I being foolish by loving a violent man? Why do I think we’ll end up better off than them?
“You’re still thinking about what I said,” Nikolai whispers, placing his hands on my shoulders.
I nod, recalling the vicious words and actions that whipped between us during our darkest moment together. “Yes. We did everything possible to tear each other apart.”
“Maybe that’s how we learned to love each other,” Nikolai suggests gently. “By facing our demons together.”
“The demons aren’t gone yet, are they?” I look hard into his gaze. “Admit it. The doubts are not completely gone. I love you, butthe obstacles to holding onto that love are demanding. I look around this house, and my parents were convinced their love would be enough. Are we repeating the past and making the same stupid mistake?”
“Eden …”
I cut Nikolai off. “I know. You will protect me and the baby.” I sigh too deeply. “I see all this and wonder if my dad told my mother the same thing.”
Without a word, Nikolai takes his hands off my shoulders and leaves the room. I know then I went too far. I hurry out the door and down the hall, following him. Nikolai dashes up the stairs as if to get away from me, scanning each room he passes, and then I realize he’s checking to make sure we are actually alone.
He looks over my head. “I thought I heard a footstep,” he explains.
I watch him quietly, ashamed of what I said, but I had to say it. Nikolai may want to protect me and the baby, but it’s not his decision. Life decides, not us.
We turn a corner, and I freeze as I lay eyes on the nursery. A crib stands against the far wall, the slats coated in cracked white paint and filled with frayed plush toys. A beige recliner with a pale pink throw sits beside it with a child’s book on the seat. I can’t move or utter a word. All I can do is gaze at the remains of my past as if time has also frozen me in place.
