Stories of Love

The Talk

It was at that certain time, right when she pulled him out of grogginess of early morning. Her, unexpectedly, not minding his nest of a hair. She always commented on his wild morning hair, tousled hapazardly, whether it out of amusement or simply annoyance. Or sometimes a mix of both. This time, though, there was none, and he could feel it in the thickness of the air that what was about to occur wouldn't be any good.

She sat down on the love seat in their livingroom, but leaving him no room to sit beside her. That was weird, because she was usually the cuddly type. She would always make room for him.

"We need to talk."

There goes the dangerous sentence. He now knew for sure that what about to come out of her mouth next would be anything but good. Either way, he tried to prepared himself for the worse.

"What's wrong?" He asked her with an easy tone, his smile attempting to break the stiffness of their situation, but it came out too weak it didn't make any difference.

"I know, James." Her muttered words made him confused, and the hurtful looks she threw at him made his heart constricted. "I know."

He didn't even realized he was holding his breath.

"Know what?"

She struggled to take a deep breath before answering him, "I know about Darcy."

His shoulder slumped down immediately, after knowing what was wrong. He sighed loudly as he pushed his way to sit down next to her, eager to quickly give her explanation before she could add more fuel to her panic state. "Honey--"

"Who's child is she?" She didn't even let him get his words out. Her raw emotions eventually got the best of her before he could stop her.

"I know she's yours and I know." By this time, her tears was flowing freely down her cheeks to her lap. "You two were together yesterday. She's a splitting image of you that it almost hurt to see her, because even deep down I can't deny that she's yours. You played down at the park, and I heard you calling her name. Who's is she, James?"

"Listen to me--"

"No, just tell me who's child she is, James," she shrugged out of the hold he had on her shoulder, refusing to let him see her in the eye. "Because I know for sure these two years we've been married I was never pregnant."

He heaved his chest in attempt to block out the tightness he felt suddenly occupied his heart. Her hurtful look didn't help ease his nerves the slightest bit. She had gotten that far. How would he explain it to her now?

"She looked older than four years old, James," her voice now thick of accusation. "You think I can't do the math?"

He tried to open his mouth, but no words came out. He was too baffled with the shock, he still didn't know how to handle the delicate situation without making it worse.

The next words that flew out of her mouth, however, made his blood grew cold.

"Who have you been seeing behind my back all this time, James?" She asked him in demanding tone.

He couldn't bring himself to respond to anything. He was beyond shock.

"Who?"

"NONE," He hadn't meant to came out so harsh. He could feel her flinch beside him, edging away, refusing to let herself be anywhere near him.

"Darcy is our child," he explained sternly. "You," he emphasized on that part, "are her mother."

She looked at him in disbelief. "NONSENSE!"

"She's yours," he repeated, softly, "Ours."

Yes, it was kinda his fault for thinking that maybe it was a wise decision to let Darcy spent her days with her grandparents instead until her wife was ready. He didn't think that her lack of presence actually brought the situation worse. He just didn't want the child to have to deal with the situation. He could barely handle himself with the feeling of rejection he felt when she didn't even remember who he was.

It was a daze from being in a state of coma for too long. She immediately recognized him the moment she opened her eyes for the second time that day. But that day, there was no Darcy around. He'd told the child two days prior that she should just spend her time playing with Nana, while he took the turn to watch for her mother. The mother and the child didn't meet at all.

The doctor couldn't have known how much she did remember and how much she doesn't, aside from the fact that she was still too delirious and unstable to remember anything correctly.

So he had watched her around the house carefully for a month straight. She mostly remembered every little details of her life, of the life they've shared. Of the little things she usually does in the mornings, nights, to him. He just didn't realize it was that many years that was wiped out of her memories because all the little things had been there since the very beginning.

And he didn't realize he already had few drops of tears threatening to spill out of his lids.

"Honey, we've been married for eight years," he explained softly, his hand brushing her soft tresses out of her face.

It was his fault for leaving his parents to deal with Darcy, when it was him, them, that was supposed to be responsible of her.

"What?" The look on his beautiful wife's face was one of imminent shock. Of realization. Of hurt. Of guilt.

And all of that because of him.

"I didn't....." her voice now broke. "... remember..."

He gave her a weak smile in return.

"Darling, you're always so forgetful." He repeated the powerful mantra he always said whenever he found her miss one simple thing of their life together, now realizing that maybe it was that one simple sentence that made him go blind and oblivious to his wife's state.

"It's okay, she's ours."

He hugged her when she broke out into pitiful sobs, feeling the hurt from not recognizing her own child, her own flesh and blood, as his own.