Page 55 of The Photograph

After hugging Mindy, I set Sammy on the ground who runs ahead of us with her grandma on her tail.

I walk in the main room of the house where a large pale blue foyer welcomes me and drop my bag on one of the long benches Johnnie made. After removing my shoes and slipping into soft flat shoes to protect the old polished wooden floor of the room, I stroll in between framed pictures and children’s drawings on the walls on both sides of the family house I consider home.

A couple of women walk out of the wide mouth kitchen and stop to gape at me. Standing still for a few seconds, I smile while letting them assess whether I’m a threat. I’ve been them, so I wait and once they nod, I tip my chin down in greeting.

Vania’s in her office. I smile at the older petite woman who I’ve made my second mother from the first time she took me in her arms.

I hug her a little longer than usual because it’s probably the last time I’d be able to. “Hi, Vania.”

She holds my hand while we sit on the small yellow sofa I bought for her last year. Her knowing soft brown eyes scrutinize me, and she sighs softly.

“Broken heart, kitten?” When I nod, she wipes my tear with her thumb. “It’s going to be okay. Not today or tomorrow, but one day it’ll hurt less.”

Once more, I find comfort in her arms as she pecks my head. “Thank you for the donations, sweetie.”

I sit up and shift toward her. “All I do is tell them what you do here, and most people are happy to give.” What I don’t need to say is, people probably feel how genuine I am because the Rainbow Foundation saved Cara and me.

A few days later, I receive a picture from Cara who’s posing next to a gecko-type creature with a knife and a plate in her hands. I smile at the caption ‘The new normal? Love you.’My chest tightens. How am I going to tell her about Mitch in that dreadful accident? She didn’t tell me what happened between them, and I didn’t push, but I remember Cara being sad for a long time after he left.

Gabe said I—meaning Cara—left Mitch because she wanted money, and that he got wrong. One thousand per cent. My sister and I have a complex relationship with rich men and specifically with the wealthy ones who wield their money like a weapon.

****

It’s been nearly two months—seven weeks and five days exactly— since Gabe… I clutch my chest and close my eyes.I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.

I’ve cried myself stupid when I shut down my website and referred all my potential clients to Cath Summers who sent me a basket of chocolates that made me sick. Now, kneeling on the soft rug of my bedroom, I place another pair of my shoes in the box then tape it thoroughly. Another one done. I scan my room invaded by the dozens of ugly boxes, sit back on my haunches, and cry. Again.

Last week, the journalist fromElle Décormagazine left me a voicemail to set a time for the interview. I’ll have to decline because it’ll be after the end of October, but I want to hang on to that dream a little longer. I’ve also contacted a real estate agency in San Diego. Money will be tight in the beginning, but it’ll be…

When my cell pings, I wipe my tears off, sit on my bed and read Emma’s text.

Love the course! Full of nerds. My people :) Come visit soon. Miss you.

I haven’t told her about Gabe.How will I ever explain how blinded I was? How stupid… So, so stupid.

Bile erupts to my throat, and I make it to the bathroom just in time. After I empty the content of my stomach—which wasn’t much—I splash my heated face with cold water.

****

I made an appointment with my doctor who sent me for some blood tests. Three days later, sitting in his office, I stare at him, unable to understand words.

I clear my throat, but my words are still choked. “Wh-what did you say?”

He clasps his hands on his desk while his bushy white, spiky brows knit.

“You’re pregnant.”

“Are you sure? I was told I couldn’t get pregnant because of the scarring. Are you absolutely, absolutely sure?” The most beautiful being in the entire universe nods his balding head as I perch on my chair.

He takes off his glasses to place them on his desk and his smile brightens the dreary room. “Yes, I am. You’re about ten weeks along. So, we’re past the halfway mark before we know for sure if the pregnancy will take. I’m going to write you a script for folic acid and prenatal vitamins and refer you to an OB—”

When I jump out my chair, he reels back and blinks owlish eyes at me.

I shake my head. “I have a doctor… I have a gynecologist, thank you.”

“Very well.” He gets to his feet, and I wrap my arms around his bony torso. He taps his hand on my back and congratulates me before I fly out of the room.

Once I get home, I float to the kitchen and drink a glass of water and as I lean my back against the counter, I join my palms together under my chin.

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