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In a way, it had been a blessing to get away from Babylonia, away from Jean, Caroline and Tom. Whether or not it was a mistake to save Tom…it didn’t matter. A final act of love that separated you from them, even as you pined over her. They could go back to the life they had, or at least bounce back quickly enough, and you might have tried your best to get over everything.
But perhaps that might’ve been naïve thinking. Things haven’t changed. No matter how hard you try to deny it, there’s still some part of your heart that’s desperately in love with Caroline Godwin. And it seems that her family hasn’t been able to move on either.
“I was pregnant, only just for a handful of weeks when the accident happened,” Caroline says dully, leaning her head on her hand. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her fist clenched tight. “But not for long. The stress of everything that happened…I miscarried. Jean didn’t even know. I couldn’t tell him. There was a time where I sincerely feared…that one more bit of bad news would be enough for the monster to take my husband.”
You stare, utterly aghast. “Caroline, I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t apologize!” Her voice is sharp, startling her as much as you. Calming herself, she squeezes your hand back. “Don’t…Sinleq, you have nothing to apologize for. You’ve already done so much for us. Jean and I…we’ll handle this on our own. It’s…not ideal, but we’re getting by. The counseling does help, but it’s slow. And that’s fine. I’m not in a hurry to rush things.”
Bullshit. You can see the hurt in her eyes. There isn’t any way this is normal in the slightest. Not to mention how it gutted you whenever you saw your parents arguing. And God…how was Tom taking all of this?
But Caroline doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. She wipes at her eyes, smoothing out the plaits and creases in her skirt and apron. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she smiles softly, then says, “But that’s enough about us. What about you? Injuries aside, have you been eating well? Have you met anyone?”
Before you can confront that non-sequitur, a door deeper within the apartment opens with a click, causing you both to jump. It’s punctuated with a loud yawn, the kind of sound a child would make without a care for manners, and the sound of slippers on hardwood flooring. “Mom, is dinner ready…?”
Thomas Godwin-Barbet is a young boy, just a handful of weeks short of his eleventh birthday. He’s short for his age, barely edging around the bottom of your ribs, and his clothes hang loosely off a lean, thin frame. Where 8ys of radiation and years of chemotherapy had taken his hair, some of it’s started to grow back.
“Who’s…” He squints, frowning and rubbing at the corners of his eyes. Tom blinks rapidly, first out of tiredness, but you can see the instant adrenaline floods his body as his eyes go wide in recognition.
(cont.)
