by Shelly Cruz
MASSIMO
LENA DROPPED A BOMB on my heart with her confession. Yeah, she fucked up and vanished, but to think I could’ve had something to do with her decision makes me feel like an asshole. She suffered through all of what she just told me, and I knew nothing. My heart tightens in pain. Pain I feel for the hurt I caused, the hurt she went through, the loss she endured, and the loss of our relationship.
This woman, she owned every part of me, and I was oblivious to the agony she was living with. How is that possible? To add insult to injury, I basically did what Stefano did and stormed out on her when she was the most vulnerable. My actions proved that I reacted exactly as she feared I would, solidifying that I’m still an asshole. I can’t deal with my shit right now. I still need answers from her.
Lena’s breathing has evened out. She’s no longer sobbing, and her breath is hot at my neck. “Hey, you okay?” I ask, lifting my hands to her face and gliding my thumbs across her cheeks, over her signature beauty mark.
“It’s the first time I’ve said all of that out loud to anyone. I’ve kept it locked away inside of me since the day I left. It’s such a relief to finally let it all out.”
“Lena.” I look up to the ceiling and let out a deep sigh before turning back to face her. “I can’t begin to understand what you felt. What you feel about everything you lost. I had no clue about any of it. I should’ve been more attentive and more open. For that, I apologize.” I kiss her forehead and let my lips linger there.
I grasp her face and stare into her eyes. “I’m sorry that we never had the conversation about kids, and I just assumed we would have them.” Lena’s eyes widen at my apology for my insensitive behavior, something she wasn’t expecting to hear.
“My assumptions pushed you away. Made you think you couldn’t have a conversation about it or about your health. We were gonna get married, and we should’ve discussed what we wanted, and what was happening with you, with us. I was wrong.”
Tears slide down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she mutters. She lifts her hands and rests them over mine, which are still embracing her face.
“There are not enough words to express how sorry I am for making you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was happening to you. But I don’t understand how you could ever think I would love you less. That never would’ve happened.”
“You don’t know that.” She shakes her head.
“I do know that. But, if that’s what you’re sticking with, then neither do you. I fell in love with you, your heart—” I lay my hand over her heart, resting my palm there “—your kindness, your sense of humor, the way you’re shy yet confident, your laugh, and these curls.”
I grab a ringlet that’s hanging over her left eye and twirl it between my fingers. “Having kids would have been a bonus. Yes, I wanted children with you, but we would’ve made it through together. We would’ve made a life without kids. You didn’t even allow me to do that. You took that away from me, from us.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes dart away from mine.
“Lena, look at me.”
She hesitates before turning her eyes back up toward mine, moisture brimming at their edges.
“Help me understand. I have questions. Will you answer them for me?”
She nods her head yes.
“No more lies.”
She lifts her eyes back to mine and nods.
“The doctor, she told you that you needed a hysterectomy, and you’d never carry a child. Did you get a second opinion?”
“I planned on getting one in Des Moines.”
“You planned on it? What does that mean?”
“I had been in Des Moines for about four months. Had found a job, an apartment, and was trying to normalize my life, establish a routine to forget you. My body was in pain, but I ignored it. I took ibuprofen and worked through it all. I pretended the pain was a result of all the drastic changes I had made.”
Nine Years Ago
It was a busy Thursday, and after working a double, Hank, my manager, let me go home early. I wasn’t feeling well and had shooting pains down my legs for most of the day from my period, which is heavy again this month. When I get home, I take a shower to wash the day away and take a few ibuprofen to dull the pain.
I’ve been meaning to contact a doctor, schedule an appointment to get a second opinion, and see if Dr. Ahmed in Boston was right. Still, I keep putting it off, making excuse upon excuse to myself to avoid facing reality. The truth is, I don’t care. I am wicked miserable, have been since leaving Boston, leaving Massimo. I miss my old life, miss everything about it. But mostly, I miss my man. I regret leaving him, regret being here, but I know if I go back to Boston, Massimo will tell me it’s okay that I can’t have kids, and we can have a life without them. But I know better. He would resent it. I would know he was always unhappy without kids, and it would destroy our relationship. I left because I cannot bear the thought of him leaving me. After all, I had no control over what was happening to my body, and I can’t have children. At least this way, I am in control of my misery and heartache.
It’s the middle of the night when I wake up from the abdominal pain. The sheets beneath me are soaked. I reach to the nightstand and turn the lamp on. Blood saturates the sheets. What the fuck is happening? I attempt to stand, but my legs buckle, forcing me to sit back on the edge of the bed as blood streams down my legs. I grab my phone and dial Stevie’s number.
“Lena? It’s four in the morning. What’s the matter?”
“Hi, Stevie. I woke up in a pool of blood and can barely stand. Can you come here and drive me to the emergency room?”
“What? Yes, of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Keep your phone close.”
I lie back down in a cradle position to alleviate the pain, tears streaming down my face. I’m so alone. I could die, and no one would ever know. What have I done?
Stevie used her key to enter my apartment. After entering my room, she helps me up from the bed and walks me to the bathroom to clean up. She hands me a wet towel to wipe my legs while she’s searching for clean underwear, pants, and a top. As I’m cleaning myself, I notice I am still hemorrhaging golf-ball-sized clots. When Stevie returns to the bathroom and sees me, she says, “Lena, I can’t take you bleeding that way. I’m calling 9-1-1.”
The EMTs are in my bathroom minutes later, a male and a female. The female helps me stand and supports me as we cross the room to the stretcher waiting at the bedroom door. They lay me back, place an oxygen mask on my face, and strap me in. The pain in my stomach is like a twisting knife, and I’m crying from how much it hurts.
“Lena, I’ll meet you at the hospital.” Worry laces Stevie’s voice.
Once at the hospital, the EMTs roll me to a room and transfer me to a bed. The air smells sterile, and it’s freezing in here. I shiver until someone drapes one of those flimsy white hospital blankets over me. A nurse begins placing those small sticky dots on my chest and arms, takes my blood pressure and temperature, and sticks an IV into my arm. Two doctors enter when the nurse is finishing the IV placement, and they begin asking questions.
I tell them my medical history, what Dr. Ahmed told me, and that I have not seen a doctor since, nor did I do any treatment. I do my best to explain the pain I feel down my legs, across my back, in my abdominal area. The doctors tell me they will keep me for observation and attempt to stop the bleeding. But when I’m still bleeding several hours later, the doctors tell me they’re taking me into surgery to perform an emergency hysterectomy but that until we’re in surgery they won’t know what type of hysterectomy they’ll do.”
Lena lets out a sob. She bows her head and rests her forehead on my shoulder.
“Jesus, Lena, you could have died.”
“Honestly, I didn’t care whether I did or not. That’s how fucked up I was at that point. I had never felt so sad and lonely. It was like I was being punished for what I had done.”
“You weren’t being punished, you were sick, being stubborn, and ignored
your body. Not quite the same thing.”
She scowls at me.
I attempt to soothe her with the one thing that has always worked, touch. I tighten my arms around her torso, gliding my thumbs back and forth over the area where they rest. When her breaths are even again, I caress her arms, up and down in slow, steady motions before asking, “What happened after your surgery?”
“I was in the hospital for six days. The doctor explained that she removed my uterus but left my ovaries in. She said she didn’t think they posed a problem, and since it was not something we had discussed, she didn’t want to remove them without first consulting with me. She also had to do bladder reconstruction because the endometriosis was growing on a substantial part of my bladder.”
“She left your ovaries in? Does that mean you still have eggs?”
“Yes.”
“You could—”
“No, I can’t. Don’t say it.”
“Hey, stop,” I say. She glares at me. “Let me finish. What I was gonna say is that you could have called me after you had the surgery.”
“No, I couldn’t have. Because you would have come to find me, and things would still be the same. I would never give you the children you wanted.”
“So stubborn!”
“If I would have stayed, or called, or whatever, you wouldn’t have your two beautiful boys. Forgetting everything else in our past, those two guys make it all worth it for you, for both of us. Unquestionably you’re an amazing father to them, which means I made the right choice for you.”
“I want you to know you’re not broken. Just because some asshole said that to you doesn’t make it so. You not being able to have kids doesn’t make you any less of a woman. You have a beautiful heart. I know it because I’ve been on the receiving end of your love.”
Tears stream down her face, and she sniffles.
“Why did you take so long to come back?” I wipe tears from her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.
“When I learned you had a son, it hurt—a lot! I had a final exam a few days after finding out and just barely passed. I was so distraught. I felt a lot of sadness and resentment again, thinking it should’ve been me to give you a son. It should be me who’s the mother of your children. Of course, that was crazy of me to think.” She hides her eyes from me, attempting to conceal the guilt that accompanies her statements. I’d be a hypocrite for telling her she’s wrong for thinking that way because that very thought has crossed my mind numerous times and has caused the same feelings of guilt.
“As soon as classes started again, I focused on school and pushed away thoughts of you again because I had to finish. I wasn’t ready to come back and face reality, so I stayed to work for a bit and gain experience before returning. I hoped time would heal me.”
“Did it heal you?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I regret the decision I made. That regret has eaten away at me from the inside out. Every single day! It’s the only decision I’ve ever made that I haven’t come to terms with. Regret that I’ll live with for the rest of my life even if I know it was the right decision for you.”
She drops her eyes to the floor, her hands clenching into fists. Although painful for her, her words give me a glimmer of hope—the unknown future of us.
“If you could do things over again, would you make the same choice?”
“I don’t know; it’s hard to say. I’d like to think I would do things differently because I wouldn’t feel so sad and wouldn’t feel so much regret. But I don’t think I would. Because then you wouldn’t have your boys.”
“Grazie.”
“What are you thanking me for? All I did was wreak havoc and cause you heartache.”
“I disagree with the way you handled everything, but now I have Lucio and Leandro. They’re everything to me. The love I feel from those two little guys is indescribable. The only other time my heart felt that happy was with you. You’re not their mother, but you sacrificed your life, your happiness, the love you felt for me so I could feel the love of being a father. It’s hard for me to accept how it all went down, that what you did was for me, but those two little boys make it difficult not to.”
Lena attempts a weak smile. Another tear leaks from her right eye, and I stop it with my thumb, wiping it away and kiss the wet spot it leaves.
“I’m sorry I stormed out of The Vault the way I did, for reacting exactly as Stefano did. I should’ve listened to you, let you explain, and tell me your story. I was furious, and I couldn’t control my temper. You told me that right after my mother’s death. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to hear what you said. Between my mother’s death and your reappearance, my head is spinning. It’s not a valid excuse, but it’s the truth. Thank you for coming here today and for forcing me to have this conversation. We needed this.”
“Well, thinking about it, it was probably a good thing you walked out. Did you see the dirty look the guy at the bar gave you when you raised your voice? Imagine if he saw me sobbing like I just was, he probably would’ve wanted to knock you out or something.” Lena attempts some humor, and I’m relieved to see her sense of humor still there underneath all the pain and heartache.
I lift my wrist to look at the time. I need to close out the lunch crew, but I am not ready for Lena to leave. We still have things to discuss. There are things I need to know, wrongs to make right. We need to make up for lost time.
“I’m sorry. I know you have things to do. I’ll go.”
“No. Well, yes, I need to close out the lunch crew upstairs, but we’re not done here.”
“We’re not?” Her eyes widen.
“Not even close. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” She purses her lips and stares at me, her eyes crinkling in the corners. I can see the thoughts racing through her mind. “Lena, it’s not a difficult question to answer.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“Of course it is. Meet me tomorrow at Billy Tse’s, 6:30 p.m.”
A deep sigh escapes her. “All right, I’ll be there.”
I grasp Lena’s face and brush my lips to hers.
CHAPTER 23
On the Mend
MARIALENA
I LEAVE MASSIMO’S RESTAURANT and walk toward Post Office Square to sit in the park. I need to absorb everything that just happened. As I stroll down Franklin Street, I feel lighter. Our conversation was emotional and cathartic. I’ve kept it buried for so long it weighed me down. It’s what I needed to start healing from all the destruction I caused.
Massimo’s reaction at the Vault last week was unexpected and felt like a slap in the face. The way I left was pretty fucked up, so I get it. It’s not like I can blame him. If our roles were reversed, who knows how I would’ve reacted. Besides, his mother just passed away and he was already grieving.
I was worried about how he’d react to me for just showing up at his restaurant to demand we have a conversation, but it turns out it was the right move. I didn’t think he’d understand, but it seems he came around and even apologized to me. His apology was unexpected, but welcome. I’m glad he recognized his role in my decision. For the longest time, I blamed only myself, but with time I realized his behavior didn’t inspire confidence that he would accept me as I am—a woman who would never give him children.
Despite all the damage I caused, he was still the one comforting me, which shouldn’t surprise me. Looking back, he was always like that, and I don’t know why I didn’t see it when we were together. Part of me thinks that I should’ve told him the truth, that we would’ve dealt with whatever came because then we would’ve probably continued our relationship. But the other part of me knows that my inability to have kids would’ve been something that caused a rift between us, even if Massimo thinks it wouldn’t have. At this point, it doesn’t matter what any of us think.
Decisions were made, lives were disrupted, relationships were damaged, and none of it can b
e undone.
In the end, I am my own worst enemy because I would’ve been the one to always ask myself whether he resented me. I would’ve nitpicked at everything, created drama that likely didn’t exist. I would’ve looked for a hidden meaning in his words or actions, and it would’ve made me angry and bitter. I self-sabotaged because Stefano made me feel worthless, unloved, and broken. I never truly healed from it, and part of me believed Massimo was capable of the same. Of course, in hindsight, that’s ridiculous to think since Massimo is so different than Stefano. I had no business comparing the incomparable. This is what happens when I get in my own head.
I’m not sure where we go from here, but I know we’re on the mend after the conversation we just had. Hopefully, Massimo will forgive me for all the hurt I caused him. I still love him, part of me always will, and given our last few encounters, I think Massimo feels the same. Except there’s the mother of his children.
My heart aches at the mere thought of her and that she now gets to raise a family with the man I love. Thoughts of her cause jealousy to rear its ugly head. We haven’t talked about her, their relationship, and the absence of his wedding ring. Although he did tell me his heart has only ever felt happy with his kids and me. What does that mean? Is there hope for us? Tomorrow night I’ll have to ask him because I do not want to break up a family. I’ve already crossed too many lines with him without knowing his relationship status. I cannot be a part of that.
I find an empty bench to sit in the sun that finally made an appearance, look up toward the sky, and let the rays warm my face. There is a chill in the air, but it’s still early enough in October that the sun still warms when it’s unobstructed. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. I need to decompress and clear my head before I go back to the office. Otherwise, I won’t be able to get any work done, and right now, I need to focus. One of my clients has a removal hearing next week, and I’ve been reviewing the file and preparing the evidence to meet with him and prepare his testimony.