Page 38 of Wishing Stone

14

Krystina

Ilay curled up under a plush blanket on the sofa in the family room, the only light coming from the television. The TV was muted with a rerun of the primetime news hour playing on the screen. It was after three in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind was spinning with so many things, and I couldn’t shut it off no matter how hard I tried.

To say it was a stressful time would be an understatement. This time of year, it was typical for my workload at Turning Stone Advertising to double, as so many of my clients were pushing holiday sales and the like. However, our strategies had changed and adapted over the past eighteen months, making our already lengthy task list even longer. With so many still working remotely, the number of cars navigating the streets was down and it made billboard advertising much less effective. People were using the internet now more than ever and print subscriptions had seen a sharp decline. As a result, my staff and I had chosen to move our clients to mostly online ads, which also meant long, grueling days of expanding our contacts and virtual presence in areas relevant to client needs that were ever changing.

It was a lot to juggle on its own, but when I tossed in the problems at Stone’s Hope, everything seemed overwhelming. The shelter was my responsibility—one that I treasured—but there was no denying how tired I was when Alexander and I finally climbed into bed at night. Most days, we’d have dinner, then retreat to our offices to wrap up any of the days unfinished business, before coming back together to watch an episode of whatever we were currently streaming on Netflix. Too depressed by the news, I’d embraced the ‘Netflix and Chill’ mentality, using the short hour in the evening to decompress after a long workday. Eventually, it had become routine—one that I appreciated now more than ever.

I absently placed a hand over my stomach, wondering how much my little bundle of joy was attributing to my exhaustion and recent insomnia. I was approaching the end of the first trimester and was starting to feel more optimistic about things. Besides the nausea from the so-called morning sickness, I felt good and had almost told Alexander about the baby when we were out by the pond. But then he’d brought up Christmas, reminding me how much I missed family and friends, and it triggered the waterworks.

My emotional state had been a constant rollercoaster as of late, and I knew my frame of mind had been all wrong. So, in the end, I decided not to tell him. It just didn’t feel like the right time. I didn’t want any distractions when I finally told him about our baby. I wanted the moment to be perfect.

I inhaled deep and gave in to a good yawn. I took it as a sign that I would probably fall back asleep if I went up to bed. Picking up the television remote, I was about to switch it off but paused when I saw the headline on the bottom of the screen.

NYC Records Zero Cases for the Seventh Day in a Row

What are they talking about?

Surely, they couldn’t be referring to the virus. Glancing down at the remote, I unmuted the television to hear the reporting.

“…has recorded its seventh day of no local cases. At today’s press conference, the mayor thanked healthcare and public workers, and above all else, New Yorkers for doing everything they could to move past the pandemic. After announcing that there would be no more public restrictions in place, the mayor took the time to speak about congregate care settings, reiterating the need to be vigilant, but has agreed to drop all mandated requirements as of Monday. After nearly two years, New Yorkers breathed a sigh of relief. However, some health care officials warn that we shouldn’t drop our guard and disagree with….”

My eyes went wide with shock, barely able to process what I’d heard as a million emotions surged. My hands began to shake. I didn’t need to hear the rest. I’d heard enough. Pointing the remote at the TV, I powered it off.

With the room now in complete darkness, I leaned back against the sofa. A part of me was thrilled to hear the great news, but another part of me was absolutely furious.

I’d been betrayed by the person I trusted above all others.

No local cases.

No restrictions.

Mandates dropped.

And Alexander was still keeping me locked up in the house.

My fists clenched as my anger built. Seconds ticked by, eventually turning into minutes until I wasn’t sure how long I was sitting there in the dark.

I knew what I was getting into when I married Alexander. There were times when he acted controlling and assuming, but it was balanced with so much love and tenderness. When combined, it made up the man I had come to love, know, and understand. I could even empathize with why he needed to maintain control, but his overreaction to the pandemic had been more extreme than I’d realized.

Alexander’s need to control everything—including me—had gone too far.

All this time, I’d been so isolated, unable to see my friends and family, and for what? So he could feel secure with me in a bubble? I knew, and had even argued, about the world seeming to resume normal life, but I hadn’t realized exactly how understated that was.

I suppose I only had myself to blame for not knowing. My excuse was that I’d been so busy with work and trying to distract myself from thinking about my isolation that I hadn’t taken the time to stay informed. The limited TV programming I watched came from streaming services and it was never news related. I was no longer on social media, as the paparazzi just made it nothing but a headache. Even news notifications had been turned off on my phone, as any sort of update from the outside world was depressing, serving only to remind me of the reason I was locked up in the first place. In a way, I’d indirectly created my kind of own isolation outside of anything Alexander had imposed.

But he knew.

Staying up on current events was crucial to Alexander’s business—there was no way he couldn’t have known.

And he never said a word.

“The liar,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “How dare he?”

I stood up and began to pace, my fury flowing hot in my veins. As my rage grew, I thought about going upstairs to wake my neurotic husband. I wanted to have it out with him more than anything, but then I thought better of it. Yelling at him would get me nowhere. It would only infuriate him and make him double-down on his argument. The better solution would be to ignore his stupid rules all together and let the chips fall where they may. Short of tying me down, he couldn’tmakeme stay in the house.

I pressed my lips together in a frown. The fact that I had no trouble imagining that exact scenario was troublesome. We would need to talk about this with Dr. Tumblin as soon as possible. But until that happened, I had no intention of staying caged up in this house any longer.

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