Blossom in Winter

by Melanie Martins

  “Tess, enough! It’s time for you to leave.”

  “That’s alright,” interposes Van Dieren. “I’m going outside to get some fresh air.”

  Chapter 34

  Manhattan, August 26, 2020

  Petra Van Gatt

  I don’t recognize my bedroom. It looks unfamiliar. My mind’s blurry, as if I’d overslept. Every movement is difficult, but I manage to turn my face enough to the right to see my mother sitting beside me, stroking my head.

  “Mom?” She smiles, still focusing on me.

  “Hey, my little angel.” Her voice is so calm and reassuring. She plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “I love you so much. You have no idea how many times I have prayed to see these beautiful eyes again.”

  I smile at her words, but my curiosity takes over and I look around the room. “Where am I?”

  “In your new home. I moved to Manhattan to take care of you. I’ll never leave you again.”

  “To take care of me?” I repeat, perplexed, while sitting up in bed. “What about Alex? Where is he?”

  Mom lowers her gaze, thinking something through. “Honey, your godfather made me a promise…”

  “What promise?”

  But Mom doesn’t reply. Words seem difficult as she keeps studying me. “To let you live in peace.”

  “Are you kidding me? No! I don’t believe you!” I touch my neck, but my pendant is gone. I feel such a terrible pang in my heart that I cry instantly, devastated by the pain.

  “Darling, shhh…” She hugs me tight. “I understand it’s hard now, but it was such a dangerous obsession. It nearly killed you. You finally have a second chance to live a happy and healthy life.”

  “I have to talk to him,” I howl louder.

  “Oh, my little angel, he left New York. He sold his estate. He…”

  “He what? Mom, speak!”

  Mom swallows hard. “He got married, Petra.”

  I nearly faint. I try to drag precious air into my lungs, breathing in and out.

  Because my goddaughter forbade me to marry anyone but her, I remember him saying in Brazil.

  “I don’t believe you. He loves me. He’ll never marry anyone but me.”

  “Oh, darling, you’ve been in a coma for so long… It was destroying him. He had to tell you goodbye and move on.” She pauses. “He’s now happily married to Amanda.”

  No, no, no! Agony takes over my soul, and I start sobbing like never before. “I want to die... Oh, Mom…” I hold her tight and let myself go in her arms. “I can’t live like this.”

  “Of course you can. I promise you can,” she says, while gently stroking my hair. “You’ll have the best psychiatrists to take care of you. We’ll ensure you fully recover.”

  Mom tries to calm me down, but I know it’s impossible. “Where’s Dad? I need to see him.”

  She lets out a sigh. “Well, since I won the case to transfer you with me, your dad sold his stocks and his penthouse on Park Avenue, and decided to retire. He bought an island in the Pacific and has been living there like a hermit for the past few months.”

  What? I can’t believe it! I shut my eyes and try to wake up from this nightmare. The two most important men in my life are gone? Mom has to be lying! I take my iPhone, get out of bed, and head to the living room. There I try to call Alex, but his number is no longer available. I try Dad’s number. That line doesn’t go through either. I text Yara, Julia, and Maud, but no one replies. I call them—still nothing. It seems like no one from the Van Dieren clan wants to talk to me, Margaret included. They all left. Abandoned me. Deceived me. I close my eyes, tears falling. He’s really gone. Again.

  Mom sits on the floor where I’m sobbing and holds me tight. “Mom, let me die...” I sniffle. “There is no point in being here...”

  “Shhh, my little angel. Never. I will never give up on you. You will heal, I promise. You have your whole life ahead. I understand it’s hard now…”

  She can’t understand, no. She can’t understand there’s no possible life. The life I want is no longer here. I lost everything I most cherished. “Let me talk to him,” I insist through my sobs. “He loves me, he needs me.”

  “Petra, it’s over. Your godfather moved on with his life. You have to do the same now. Let him be happy with Amanda.” But I keep shaking my head in denial. “You’ll start therapy tomorrow,” she announces assertively.

  “I don’t need therapy. I need him. He doesn’t love Amanda. This is bullshit!”

  Mom lets out a breath. “He does. He just wasn’t ready to marry and needed a break. What happened between you and him was just a terrible mistake.”

  “Is Emma here?” I ask, thinking of something.

  “Yes. She actually came here to see you many times.”

  I stand up, feeling half dead inside. “I’m going to surprise her, then.”

  “No, you’re not going anywhere. First, you need to see a doctor.”

  “Mom, please, let me go to Hudson. I’m suffocating here.”

  “I’ll go with you, then.”

  “Oh, Mom, stop! I can still book an Uber,” I snap back.

  “Petra, you’re not stable. You can’t go alone. You are ill!”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything dangerous. See? Uber booked to Emma’s.”

  I head to my bedroom, put on a simple black hoodie and jogging pants, take my wallet, and look around. “Do you have a spare key?”

  With a scolding face and a defiant glare, Mom stands in the doorway of my bedroom, probably to block my way. “You are not leaving this house.”

  “Can’t I go out to see my friends now? Am I gonna be your prisoner?”

  After some pondering, Mom finally hands me her key. “Here. Promise me you’ll be back in four hours. No more. And text me once you arrive and when you leave her house.”

  “I promise. My Uber just arrived. See you later.”

  It will be an easy death. A simple injection will put me to sleep for good and silence the pain my body and mind can no longer bear. It’s two a.m. Alone in bed, I take out the syringe and flask I bought today while Mom thought I was in Hudson Valley. Then I fill the syringe with the yellowish liquid. I close my hand as hard as I can so the veins will become more prominent on my forearm. Without thinking twice, I perforate one with the needle, press the plunger, and see the liquid entering my veins.

  The poison will be fast, they said. It won’t take longer than fifteen minutes to stop my heart completely. I shut my eyes, just like I’m sleeping. I know Mom could come check on me at any moment.

  They also said before you die, you see your entire life flashing before your eyes. But all I can see is the life I dreamed of with him. The life I didn’t live. From the day he would’ve gotten down on one knee and proposed, to the day we would’ve exchanged our wedding vows, to the day he would’ve cried with happiness finding out I was pregnant, to the day we would’ve held our newborn for the very first time… Years later, we’d be running in the green fields of Bedford Hills with our children on a warm, sunny day. We’d have picnics by the lake. Alex would make paper windmills that spin when you blow, and the kids would giggle, enchanted by them. We’d go to Aspen and teach them how to build a snowman and how to ski, but most importantly, they’d be loved and cherished, and they’d never feel lonely like I did growing up.

  Then I picture myself in bed with him, waking up together. He’d smile at me and, like every day, he would say, “Good morning, wife.”

  A big grin would warm my face. I would touch my pendant and give him a kiss. “Good morning, husband.”

  But suddenly, I feel myself crying.

  “Why are you crying?” he asks.

  “Because this is not real…” I tell him. “And the truth is so ugly that I can’t live with it.”

  “Oh, Petra.” He reaches out, gently taking my hand. “Why would you go that far for me?”

  “Because I love you,” I mumble, eyes down. “Why go on living if I can’t be with you?”

&nb
sp; “If you are dying, then I want to die too.”

  At that instant, he turns to the nightstand, opens the drawer, and pulls out a sharp, pointed knife.

  Breathing feels harder and heavier as he gently takes my hand and puts the knife in my palm, closing it. “I want to go with you.”

  “I can’t kill you. I love you so much,” I reply through tears. “You have to live. To be happy.”

  “I can’t. Do it for me. For us.” He puts his hands over mine and sets the sharp knife over his heart. “Take me with you,” he implores.

  “No,” I whimper in pain seeing him like that.

  “You have to.”

  “No. I can’t kill you.” I want to remove my hands from the knife but he’s holding them so tight. I close my eyes and shake my head repeatedly.

  “Petra, look at me. Look at me!” I obey. “Do you love me?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then please don’t leave me here. Take me with you.” He keeps pressing the knife against his chest. I tremble, seeing his flesh perforated and blood emerging. “Do it, Petra.” I can’t strike him. I’m motionless. “Do it!”

  “No!” I cry harder, shaking my head as I see the knife going deeper into him.

  “Do it,” he yells louder.

  “No!” I abruptly pull the knife from his chest, and with all my strength, strike as hard as I can into my own heart.

  Then I take one last look at his blue eyes, give him one last smile, take one last breath, and the pain is finally gone.

  Chapter 35

  Bedford Hills, August 27, 2020

  Alexander Van Dieren

  They told us she should wake up two weeks after her accident. Then four. And, well, now they just say she should wake up before the end of the year. Nothing makes sense to me. Her brain is stable, her lungs too. She breathes normally on her own, but she doesn’t wake up. Science feels futile and in vain, at times like this. Petra remains a total mystery to every physician we have seen. A complex paradox that no one understands despite the countless tests and brain scans. She should be awake, they’ve said repeatedly. Yes, she should. But she is not.

  Madama Butterfly, an Italian opera, is playing from the speakers. The dramatic female voice in the second act resonates against the walls of my bedroom.

  I remain motionless, living in the chair beside my bed, where Petra has been lying since the day she was transferred from the hospital.

  Every single day, I wish she’d wake up so I could see her big blue eyes one last time. But they remain closed, as if she knows that once she wakes up, I’ll have to say goodbye.

  A Macallan in one hand and an envelope in the other, my eyes are also shut, tired of this world, tired of myself, tired of life. I try to control the headache, but it’s become the normal state of my mind, and I don’t care anymore.

  The door opens, but I don’t even blink.

  “Alex, it’s two a.m. You can’t continue like this. You’re becoming an alcoholic,” scolds Roy, stepping into my bedroom. “I moved here to give you moral support—me, not the whiskey.”

  “You know what day it is?” I ask, drinking a bit more, my eyes still closed.

  He lets out a deep breath. “August twenty-seventh.”

  I reach for my forehead, pressing the cold glass against my boiling skin, and try to contain the pain consuming me.

  I focus on the sound of the female opera singer—her angelic voice reminds me of Petra. She sings “Un bel dì vedremo” from Act II. I love this opera, but I never thought Petra’s fate would be as tragic.

  “And according to the letter from this clinic, our baby’s due date.” I empty my glass and swallow hard. “I just want to die, Roy. Seeing her like this destroys me.”

  “She’ll wake up, Alex. The doctors said she’ll wake up,” he repeats, his voice heavier. “I’m sure she’s fighting internally to wake up.”

  But I’m in tears, my head shaking as I recall every moment before she left this house. “I’d give my life in a second to save hers. There is not a single day that goes by that I don’t think about that horrible argument.” I sniffle. “Maybe Tess is right—maybe our relationship has always been cursed…”

  “Nonsense.” Roy stops the music, walks a few steps over, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, at seven years old, my daughter screamed out loud in the middle of the dinner table what she felt for you… And if you look back, she predicted this relationship from the very beginning. There are things in life we simply cannot explain.” He starts patting me consolingly. “I’m so sorry you can’t be together. Believe me, I am.”

  “I know, Roy.” I sigh and look up at her. “In my heart, Petra will always be my wife, no matter what she does with her life once she wakes up.” I take the box from my pocket and contemplate the engagement ring once more. “This ring is hers. It always will be.” I smile as I let my mind picture her wearing it. But I force such thoughts away, close the box, and put it back in my pocket. “I just want her to wake up. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  I hear nothing but his breathing. With no further words to add, Roy just glances at his watch. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Try to do the same.” And he takes the glass from my hand. “We said no more whiskey.”

  Afterward, he leans forward and places a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Come back soon, Petra,” he whispers. “We love you.”

  Petra Van Gatt

  Sunlight timidly shines through the windows of the bedroom. It feels like morning. It’s hard to keep my eyes open. My body feels like stone, and I don’t even try to move my legs. Instead, I try to move the fingers of my right hand. But I feel something holding them. I manage to turn my face. Petrified by what I’m seeing, I blink many times, but I’m still lost.

  “Hey,” I breathe. He’s sitting on a chair, asleep. His arms are perched on the edge of my bed, his hand on mine. I move my fingers again, feeling his palm. It feels real. Very real. Alex wakes up. I smile at him. He blinks, looks around, and blinks again. “Hey,” I repeat feebly.

  He smiles in return. Tears of joy start rolling down his face. The emotion consumes him, and he lets himself cry. “Oh God,” he sobs. “Hey.” He leans forward to kiss my forehead, and I feel his tears wetting my face.

  But I’m beyond dazed and confused. “Where am I? I didn’t kill you. Why are you here?” I ask quietly, my voice weak.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Um, you’re here at home. Bedford Hills. In our bedroom.”

  “But... I just killed myself. Why am I here?”

  I see him struggling to find a viable answer. “Maybe you were fighting internally so you could escape your subconscious and come back here, to the real world.”

  “My subconscious?” I repeat. “You mean…” My face beams at him. “You mean, I’m alive?”

  “Yes. You are alive.” He kisses my hand repeatedly, drying his tears on my skin.

  “What day is it?” I ask.

  “August twenty-seventh.”

  Suddenly I remember everything: the baby, the fight, the truck crashing into his car while I was on the phone with Emma… I close my eyes, my smile vanishes, and my face falls. I bring a hand to my flat belly. I’m so heartbroken that I can barely breathe, but nevertheless I murmur, “It was a girl.” It was.

  He drops his stare, trying to find the right words, but there are none. “I know.” He sniffles. “I found the ultrasound in your purse.” He closes his eyes, trying to contain the tears already wetting his cheeks. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

  I don’t reply immediately. I look at him again; I’ve never seen him so dejected. I want to reassure him, but instead, to my biggest surprise, I give him the answer that comes from my heart. “I don’t know,” I confess sincerely.

  His eyes lock with mine. “Do you still love me?”

  I chuckle. “So much. And you?”

  “I never stopped loving you, Ms. Van Gatt.” He shuts his eyes and kisses my hand. “Never.”

  I caress his stubble, look
ing at him tenderly. Then I let out a sigh and ponder for a moment. “May I ask you something?”

  “Anything, Petra.”

  Before I do, I observe him attentively. He looks miserable and tired. His face seems older, with wrinkles I’ve never seen before. I can see how his countenance has changed too. It’s now so melancholic, so gloomy…

  Nevertheless, I hold his hand tight, look straight into his piercing blue eyes, and, determined to give him a second chance, I proudly ask, “Alexander Van Dieren, will you marry me?”

  THE END OF BOOK 1.

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  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you to all of you for reading my debut novel. I’m so grateful for the amazing support, positivity, and excitement you’ve shown, from my community on social media, my friends and family, to coffee shop owners where I hang out, etc., thank you so much!

  Thank you so much to my editors from New York, Ann Leslie and Katherine, and to my proofreader, Natalie Psaila. I’m so blessed to have met you all.

  To all the influencers and bloggers who have spent their free time reading, reviewing, and sharing it online and offline. I love you guys!