Deep down, as much as she had enjoyed Kristina and all her help, Layla was also looking forward to things getting back to normal—the New Normal. She'd been on bed rest since Thanksgiving, gone into labor prematurely, and had some terrible frights at the hospital before all was well. But now it was time to settle in, just them, Daddy, Mommy, and baby. She smiled as she heard Keith whistling in the kitchen. He'd be going back to his teaching job in a few days too, but he'd been so patient, so understanding through all of this, her main support. Layla glanced up at the calendar. There was a six-week hiatus for what the doctor kept calling "sexual intercourse".
Four more weeks, and she could thank Keith properly, she thought with a smile. She was sure Carol and Pops wouldn't mind babysitting.
On the other side of the wall, Kristina put the tiny articles of clothing in the new white dresser. One twin bed had been taken out, replaced with a matching white crib. Perhaps they would leave the other twin bed in case another guest visited, or so that a tired parent could lie down if the baby was sick or fretful. She wouldn't know, never planning to have children herself.
Who would want a perfect, precious, innocent child in my care, after what they did to me? After they turned me into… this. Kristina stood and caught a glance of herself in the little lamb-adorned mirror. She knew that Kayla had been shocked; she had seen the expression on her face that first day she arrived. I don't want them to win. I don't want them to have so much power over me, to change me like this.
The whole ordeal had been traumatic, from beginning to end. Not that it had ended for her. Will it ever even, really? She was torn, wanting to heal, to stand up to them where she was and where she continued to see them, but she also longed for a change, anything to get away from the city where it had happened, put some distance between herself and them.
Being here had been a welcome distraction, but perhaps it was time for a new chapter altogether. Go where no one knew her or might ask questions. She could reinvent herself. She'd miss her students, of course, but they'd be fine. Many of her students had trouble showing their emotions, but they felt them. She would explain that a new teacher would be there the next year. New school term, new teacher for them, new students for her.
Kristina shivered a little as she made the decision. As soon as she got home, she'd start applying to another school with a different climate, different everything. And, she decided to look into a counselor. I've been trying to do it all by myself, and obviously I'm not doing a great job. I can't talk to Kayla—too much to lay on her now.
A fresh start emotionally, and then a fresh start geographically. Maybe the mountains. Some rural hammock where nothing bad ever happens.
It had been a stressful evening. She had come in from the magazine bearing "gifts"—bags of Chinese take-out to remind him of Asahi's cooking—to find Eric completely out of sorts. He blamed it on his arm, but Donna could tell something else was bothering him. Conversation over dinner was tense, with awkward pauses and silences between. After they ate dinner, Donna cleaned up while Eric sat like a lump on the couch, flipping through channels. When Donna insisted they watch a movie on TV, he complied but grumbled, talked over the dialogue, and finally announced that he was going to bed.
After her own ordeal with Lance, Donna had no desire to instigate any romance. Shouldn't newlyweds have sex every night? she mused, pouring herself a glass of wine. Maybe not newlyweds with a broken arm and a recent attack between them. She'd heard friends talk about the "baggage" someone carried into this relationship or that marriage—now she understood. All of their lifetimes had built up to this very moment, dragging baggage of one kind or another. Some of the baggage was heavier, some lighter, but all of it had an inevitable impact on who they were now. Who they could become together.
She had reckoned on sex being the glue that held them together. They had always gotten along so well, even from the start. They loved one another and wanted to please the other. What could go wrong? She was a journalist as well as a romantic, though, accustomed to looking at the cold, hard facts. She had seen it happen too many times with friends over the years—"perfect" couples who eventually divorced.
In her heart, Donna knew that a strong marriage needed more than sex. More even than what passed for love in most households. She just wasn't sure Eric had "more" to give. She wasn't sure that she did, either—unloading all those memories about her father had, she knew, changed her somehow. She wasn't sure exactly how or why or what it would mean going forward, but she was sure the change for her was positive, cleansing, healing.
Eric's response had not been so positive. Of course, he couldn't read her mind, but after their return, he never brought it up again. He was injured, obviously, but he was also hurting at another level. Or not. What do I know? We're barely talking. He seemed content with her taking the lead, dominating, suggesting, instigating. It wasn't that he was wrong, and she was right, but on nights like this one, it felt like she did most of
