Book 2: So, this is Forever
33 - An Angel
Becky's POV
I ache for sleep, but my mind won't rest. I spent the entire night tormenting myself over why Freen ended up drunk, tangled in the presence of Patricia—the old wound that nearly shattered us before. I never even knew they were in contact.
Since our failed IVF two weeks ago, the distance between my wife and me has grown, especially since she returned to work. But could this distance drive her to cheat on me? Was it truly that simple? How could she betray our love so easily? How could she risk everything we had for a fleeting moment of recklessness?
I can't bring myself to accept it. We've fought through so much together, and our seventh anniversary looms ahead, a cruel reminder of what we once had. I have faith on her but I can't deny the suggestive connotation of the recent events.
I woke up early, my restless mind refusing to grant me peace, only to find myself staring at my wife, sleeping soundly beside me.
When Freen finally stirred, her face contorted in pain, I rushed to her side. "How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice barely masking the anguish that grips my heart.
"Not great. My head is killing me," she groaned.
I wanted to lash out, to remind her of the pain she's caused, getting drunk with that old flame of hers. But I bit back the words, swallowing my resentment.
"Here, take this. It might help with the headache," I said, handing her some Ibuprofen. I longed to ease her pain with a kiss, but I held myself back.
"Thanks, babe," she murmured gratefully.
"Babe," the word echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of our shattered intimacy. With a heavy heart, I rose from the bed. "I'll bring you breakfast, then we need to talk," I declared before fleeing the room, desperate to escape the agony threatening to consume me. All I wanted was to hold her, to kiss her, to remind her of the love we once shared, before it all slipped away.
I returned with breakfast, the weight of unspoken words heavy on my shoulders. "Thank you, Becky," Freen said as I served her the food.
Sitting across from Freen, I struggled to maintain composure, my heart torn between longing and betrayal. "You need to eat," I simply said, to which she obliged, but with no eagerness evident.
As we ate in silence, each bite felt like a bitter reminder of our fractured bond. I couldn't shake the image of Freen, intoxicated and vulnerable, in the company of Patricia—a specter from our past that threatened to unravel everything we'd built.
Finally, mustering the courage, I broached the subject that had been gnawing at me all morning. "We need to talk about last night, Freen," I began, my voice strained with emotion.
My statement was met with continued silence, so I pressed on. "What happened last night, Freen?" I asked, looking into her eyes with intent.
She avoided my gaze, choosing instead to bow her head, which only served to fuel my frustration. She couldn't escape this; I wouldn't let her. "Look at me and tell me what happened last night, Freen," I urged, my voice tinged with suppressed anger. I was barely holding it together. With every fiber of my being, I prayed that whatever she uttered wouldn't shatter us, our marriage.
Freen's gaze met mine, her eyes betraying a flicker of guilt. "Last night... Becky, last night... I'm sorry," she whispered, her words heavy with remorse.
Her apology offered little solace; the wounds were too fresh, too deep to be healed by mere words.
"Last night was a mistake. I don't know what came over me," Freen declared, tears slowly welling in her eyes, mirroring my own as I listened to her words.
Her admission hung in the air like a lead weight, dragging down the atmosphere with its gravity. I clenched my fists, feeling my chest constrict with the weight of her words, but I bit back the urge to lash out, allowing her to continue.
"I'm sorry that I got drunk last night," she uttered, her voice heavy with remorse.
"It's not just about last night, Freen," I retorted, my tone laced with a simmering frustration that threatened to boil over. "It's about every damn thing."
"For days now, Freen, you've been avoiding me," I accused, the accusation slicing through the air like a razor-sharp blade. "Burying yourself in work, and now this! Drowning your sorrows in alcohol? And with that girl, Patricia, of all people!"
Freen's eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and guilt, her jaw clenched as she braced herself for the storm of emotions about to crash down upon her. "And what about you, Becky?" she shot back, bitterness dripping from each syllable. "You've been distant too, lost in your own damn pain."
"I had to drink away my pain, Beck," Freen exploded, her words punctuated by a fierce intensity. "And Patricia is a friend, I confided in her."
The air crackled with an electric tension, our emotions colliding in a fiery clash of wills.
The accusations hung between us like a barrier of thorns, tearing at the fragile fabric of our relationship. Each word spoken was a dagger aimed at the heart, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal.
Tears stung my eyes as her confession echoed in the deafening silence. Anger, betrayal, and a profound sense of loss churned within me, fueling the flames of our escalating conflict.
"I'm trying to understand, Freen," I choked out, my voice trembling with unshed tears. "But every damn time I reach out, you push me away or leave me hanging. And I'm hurting too. Remember, I was the one supposed to bear our child."
"And really, Freen? You know damn well she's more than just a friend," I spat, my words dripping with venomous accusation. "You chose to confide in her, pouring out your heart, while I, your wife, sat at home, waiting for you."
"So now my pain doesn't mean shit because I couldn't bear the child?" Freen erupted, her frustration boiling over into a fiery rage.
"That's not what I'm saying, Freen!" I roared, the pent-up fury bursting forth like a raging inferno.
"Then what the hell are you saying, Rebecca?" Freen demanded, her voice a desperate plea for clarity amidst the chaos of our crumbling relationship.
The intensity of our exchange hung in the air like a storm on the verge of breaking. My chest tightened as I struggled to find the words to convey the depth of my anguish and frustration.
"What I'm saying," I began, my voice trembling with emotion, "is that we're supposed to be in this together, Freen. But we've been drifting apart. And now you chose to cheat on me!" The accusation tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered.
"What the hell!" Freen's voice rose to match my own, her eyes flashing with a mix of shock and indignation.
Before either of us could continue, a series of urgent knocks echoed from the bedroom door, jolting us both out of our heated confrontation.
"Freen... Becky!" Anna's voice pierced through the tension. "It's Zea," she announced, her tone laced with worry.
At the mention of our daughter's name, a wave of shared concern washed over us, momentarily eclipsing the tumult of our own emotions.
We exchanged a meaningful glance, the unspoken agreement passing between us like a silent vow. For Zea's sake, we had to set aside our grievances and come together as a united front.
Pushing aside our personal turmoil, we moved in unison towards the bedroom door, ready to face whatever awaited us on the other side.
As we hurriedly made our way from the bedroom, my heart pounded with worry for Zea. Anna's urgent tone had conveyed the seriousness of the situation, and the thought of our daughter in distress made my stomach churn with fear.
Anna handed the telephone to my wife, her eyes wide with concern.
Freen's expression mirrored my own apprehension as she fumbled to answer the call. I hovered nearby, my hand on her shoulder, offering what little comfort I could in the face of uncertainty.
"What happened?" I interjected, my voice tight with concern as my wife put the phone on speaker mode.
Zea's teacher's voice crackled through the receiver, her words rushed and urgent. "Freen, Becky, it's Zea. She's in the school clinic. She... she's hyperventilating from crying, and we couldn't reach either of you. You need to come here, now."
The news hit me like a punch to the gut, sending a jolt of panic coursing through my veins. Zea, our sweet daughter, was in distress, and we hadn't been there for her when she needed us most.
Freen's grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning white with tension. "We're on our way," she promised, her voice trembling with urgency.
Without another word, we raced out of the house, our hearts heavy with guilt and worry. As we drove towards the school, the weight of our own troubles faded into the background, overshadowed by the pressing need to comfort our daughter in her time of need.
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As the couple pulled into the school parking lot, a heavy silence enveloped them, their hearts pounding with a mix of dread and urgency. The school building loomed ominously before them, its once familiar facade now casting an unsettling aura of worry.
They hurried through the entrance, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as they followed the teacher's directions to the clinic. With each passing moment, their anxiety mounted, fueled by the desperate need to reach Zea as quickly as possible.
As they rounded the corner, the door to the clinic came into view, and Becky's heart clenched with apprehension. Pushing open the door, they were met with the sight of Zea, curled up on one of the clinic beds, her small frame trembling with sobs.
"Zea!" Freen's voice cracked with emotion as she rushed to her side, gathering their daughter into her arms.
Becky followed closely behind, her own heart breaking at the sight of Zea's distress. She knelt beside them, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek.
"Sweetheart, what happened?" Becky's voice was soft with concern.
Zea's sobs subsided slightly as she lifted her tear-streaked face to meet her mother's. But she shook her head, not wanting to speak.
Freen and Becky exchanged a worried glance, the weight of their daughter's pain pressing heavily upon them. But in that moment, all that mattered was comforting her, reassuring her that they were there for her no matter what.
"We're here now, Zea," Freen murmured, her voice gentle as she held their daughter close. "And we're not going anywhere."
Together, they stayed by Zea's side, offering comfort and reassurance as she gradually calmed down.
Freen turned to the teacher, her expression tense with concern. "What happened? Why did our daughter start to cry?" she asked.
Janna, Zea's homeroom teacher, looked at Zea before speaking. "I'm sorry, but in the CCTV footage, it seems that another child was saying inappropriate words to Zea and even pushed her. Zea stood up, wanting to push the kid back but chose to slap the chair instead, and started to cry," she explained while showing the video on her phone. "The nurse already applied first aid, and thinks there is no major injury."
Becky examined Zea's hand, her expression turning to one of concern. "Ouch," she exclaimed softly. This sparked a surge of fury in Freen, knowing that her child had been hurt.
Freen's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight with anger as she looked down at Zea, her precious daughter who had been subjected to such mistreatment. The protective instinct surged within her, fierce and unwavering.
"We won't stand for this," Freen declared, her voice tinged with determination. "No child should ever have to endure such bullying."
Becky nodded in agreement, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "We need to take action," she affirmed, her tone resolute. "Zea deserves to feel safe and supported at school."
Janna nodded in understanding, her own expression reflecting sympathy and resolve. "We're taking this matter seriously," she assured them. "The school will investigate further and take appropriate steps to address the situation. Both Zea and the involved child are not saying anything, right now. So the teachers are doing their best to have the other kids cooperate. But we have to be careful not to cause harm to the other kids."
Freen and Becky exchanged a determined glance. "We understand. For now, we'll take our daughter home and talk to her."
With Zea safely in their arms, Freen and Becky left the clinic, their hearts heavy with concern but fortified by their commitment to stand up for their daughter.
Back at home, Freen and Becky settled Zea into the comfort of her room, surrounding her with familiar toys and blankets in an effort to create a safe space for her to open up. They sat on either side of her bed, their expressions soft with concern as they waited for Zea to speak.
"Sweetheart, can you tell us what happened at school?" Becky's voice was gentle, her eyes meeting Zea's with unwavering love and support.
But Zea remained silent, her gaze fixed on her hands folded in her lap. Frustration began to gnaw at Freen's patience, and she struggled to contain her growing agitation.
"Why won't you talk to us, Zea? How can we solve this if you won't speak up?" Freen's voice betrayed her frustration, her tone sharper than intended. "We're your parents, we need to know what happened."
Suddenly, Zea's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with anger as she shouted, "Because I don't want to!" Her words echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a knife.
Taken aback by Zea's outburst, Freen recoiled, her frustration giving way to shock.
"Zea Patrice Chankimha!" Becky's voice turned stern, emphasizing her point. "Don't shout. Speak to your Dada respectfully."
Becky then turned to Freen, shaking her head, silently urging her to remain calm.
With a heavy sigh, Freen nodded, swallowing her frustration.
"For now, we'll stay and just be with you. We don't need to talk until you're ready," Becky declared, her voice gentle yet firm, as they settled into a comforting silence, offering their presence and support to their daughter in her time of need.
Feeling the weight of her parents' unconditional love and support, Zea's tension began to ease, replaced by a sense of relief in knowing she wasn't alone in her struggles. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking again.
"It's Tyler," she finally confessed, her voice shaky but resolute. "He... he keeps making fun of me because I have two moms and no dad. He says I'm weird and that our family isn't normal. That I am cursed."
Freen's heart clenched at Zea's words, a surge of protectiveness flooding her veins. "That's absolutely not true, Zea," she declared firmly, her voice laced with determination. "You are... an angel. You are a blessing to me and your Mommy."
Becky's eyes sparkled with empathy as she reached out to brush a stray tear from Zea's cheek. "You are perfect just the way you are, sweetheart," she affirmed, her voice gentle but unwavering. "Tyler's hurtful words don't define you or our family. Perhaps, we aren't the typical family; we may not fit society's narrow definition of 'normal, but we are a family, sweetheart -- a special one at that."
Together, they surrounded Zea with love and reassurance, reminding her of her worth and the strength of their bond as a family.
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Author's note
Hey there, wonderful readers,
I'm curious—how are you feeling about the story now? Are you on the edge of your seats, eager for more? Or perhaps you have some ideas brewing about where the plot should head next?
I'd love to know your thoughts and suggestions for the upcoming parts of the story. Your thoughts inspires me.
So, don't be shy! Share your thoughts, wishes, and wildest ideas with me, your humble author.
Thanks a bunch for your ongoing support and enthusiasm!
Looking forward to your comments. J