vehement

22

I nod hastily.

He smiles. "Good."

"Mama." My son mumbles. I look over at him, then at my dad, who's already lifting him up onto the bed. He shuffles up, tucking himself under my arm, which I wrap around him. I kiss his forehead, my eyes watering.

"Hi, baby. Did you sleep okay?"

"Mama, you were yelling before."

"I know. I'm sorry I scared you." I whisper, moving hair back from his face.

"It's okay." He responds, snuggling into me. "It's okay, mama."

My eyes water. I return my gaze to my father. "He's missed you a lot. He barely slept, waiting for you."

Guilt swirls through me. I look down at my son and hold onto him. He's the only person I know; the only person I remember.

"Mason told me last night he told you some things." He says, sitting down again. "Do you have any questions you wanna ask me?"

My eyebrows knit together slightly. "Mason said Frankie and I had history." I swallow my nerves. "What—what did he mean?"

He leans forward, resting his knees on his elbows. "When you were in high school, you and Frankie were in a relationship. But he wasn't nice to you. He.. he hurt you. So we got rid of him. We thought he was gone, but he came back. A few months ago you began seeing him. He got you into a car crash. He came into your shop and hurt you. And then, when you were dropping Enzo off at school, he kidnapped you both. I'm not sure how you lost your memory, sweetheart, but we're gonna do our best to try help you get it back."

A frown mars my lips. I clench my eyes shut, then reopen them again, trying to remember. I don't. Instead, I pick one thing he said out. "Shop?"

He smiles. "You own a Florist. You've always loved flowers. We built you a greenhouse in the back garden when you were little?"

"A florist?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"Yeah." He says.

     "The doctor said you said I'm not allowed to have more pain medication. Why?" I ask accusingly. "Do you want my whole body to hurt?"

     "Of course not, sweetheart." He says. He sighs. "A few months after what happened with Frankie when you were younger, you got addicted to a sedative. I don't want anything like that to happen to you again. It might seem worth it now, but it won't be later on."

     I look up at him, then away again. I exhale a small, shaky breath.

     "You're my dad." I whisper. He nods. "Where's my mum?"

     His eyes sadden. "She took you away when you were three years old. We got you back when you were twelve, but you didn't talk."

     "I didn't talk?"

     "You were mute, because of.. abuse from your stepfather." He tells me. He waits for a second, waiting to see if I have another question, but when I stay silent he continues, "we thought your mother died, but she was in a mental asylum. When we found her, she wasn't the same. She's living with her parents. Well, she was. She lives in her own house a few blocks away from them now."

     "She didn't want to come?"

     "It's more complicated than that." He tells me.

     My eyes water. "Maybe it's best I forgot. My life seems horrible."

     "Amalia." He says sadly.

     I look down at Enzo, and in this moment promise him that he will never have to endure a life like the one my father is describing to me.