Tell Me You're Mine

by Elisabeth Norebäck

  “She is a copy of Maria. You have to see her.”

  I put my hands around his neck, lean against him. It was so long ago. But it feels like we’ve never been apart. Time has not broken the bond between us.

  “And you met her, talked to her?” he says. “You’re sure?”

  “Daniel, she’s our daughter.” I want to cry with relief because he understands. With sadness for all the years that have passed. With joy to be with him, to feel the closeness between us.

  “Our daughter is dead.” Daniel breaks free from me. “We buried her. Don’t you remember that?” He might as well have punched me in the stomach. “Damn it, Stella. How much of this am I supposed to take? How many times will we have to go through this?”

  “It is her. I know it’s her. I feel it with every fiber of my being.” I turn away and take a deep breath before looking at him again. “I talked to Sven Nilsson. Do you remember him? The police officer? There was a tip that was never followed up. I’m meeting with him on Tuesday.” I grab Daniel’s hands, forcing him to look up. “I thought you might want to come with me. We’ll go there together. We’ll get answers. This time we’ll know what—”

  “Stella, listen,” Daniel interrupts. “Alice is gone. You have to let go. We have both moved on. That’s all we need to know.”

  The lump in my throat grows and the tears start to flow. I’m crying loudly now.

  “Daniel, you have to help me,” I sniff. “Please, don’t desert me. You’re all I have left.” He puts his hand on my cheek and I throw myself into his arms.

  “I’m as sad as you are,” he says quietly. “I am.”

  “I miss her. And I miss you.” I sob and hear that my words are incomprehensible. He hushes me and speaks quietly into my hair. He strokes my back.

  It feels lovely. It feels good. And I want him. Now.

  It’s wrong.

  I know it’s wrong.

  But it feels so right to be here in his arms. And the lust I felt before has returned. I caress his cheek, run my fingers through his hair, touch the scar on his forehead. I pull his face down and kiss him. Daniel pushes me off and straightens up.

  “That is not gonna help anything. You have a nice family, don’t forget that. Your husband loves you. I could see it when I met him twelve years ago. He cares about you. And he takes a lot better care of you than I ever could have.”

  I look down to the floor. Can’t stand how he’s looking at me. I’m ashamed, ashamed, ashamed.

  “I don’t intend to go with you,” he says. “I don’t want to do this again. I can’t. It’s not right for either of us. Go home to your son, Stella. Go home to your husband. He’s probably worried about you.”

  “Daddy, Daddy.” A girl’s voice. Instinctively I back up as a small child comes in and throws herself into Daniel’s arms. “We saw kittens and goats and sheep and those cafs!”

  “Calves?” Daniel laughs. The girl is probably around four and has thick, dark hair. Another girl comes in, maybe eight, I would guess, with equally beautiful hair. He asks the girls where their mom is. She went inside with the food, they say in unison. He throws the little one onto his hip and puts his arm around the big one, herding them toward the door. The girls tell him Mom said it’s time to go inside. Be with his favorite girls.

  Did Alice look like that at their ages? Would he have looked at her in the same way, been as wonderful?

  Yes, I know he would have. The pain cuts so deep, it’s hard to breathe.

  I see a younger Daniel sitting on the floor and cuddling our little girl. He’s sleeping on the sofa with his hair in all directions and our baby on his chest. A protective hand on her little back. We were his favorite girls.

  Will I be paralyzed forever? Will I stand here frozen until someone is merciful enough to carry me away?

  I’m an idiot.

  An unbalanced wreck.

  Did I imagine he’s been waiting for me all these years, waiting to relive that short time we had together? He has new daughters to care about. A new love.

  A new life.

  “Stella, Stella.” Daniel is standing in the doorway. He looks at me and both girls give me curious looks. “Take care of yourself.” He takes his daughters and heads to the house.

  A woman is standing on the front porch, looking in my direction. She’s beautiful.

  I climb into my car and drive away.

  Stella

  I drive away like a lunatic. Pull off on the side of the road. Put my head against the steering wheel and cry. Guilt and shame circle around inside me, self-loathing hammers in its eternal message of how worthless I am. Guilt that I’ve been so dishonest with Henrik. Shame for the feelings that welled inside me and how I chose to handle them. Did I try to kiss Daniel? How far was I willing to go? I don’t want to think about it. I still feel that longing. What we had was so strong and passionate. And when I saw Daniel today everything came back. I allowed it to come back. I wanted to believe it was still there. I was seeking comfort, a way to disappear into oblivion. Afraid of hurting. This is what happens when I try to flee from the pain. Right now, I lack any impulse control.

  Daniel and I. What we had no longer exists. And I grieve for us. Alice was with us one moment, gone the next, as if she never existed. No one could explain what happened. Our family ceased to exist.

  The days after our baby disappeared collapsed into one painful, drawn-out state of hopelessness and anxiety. Going home to the apartment in Jordbro, seeing her toys scattered in each room, seeing her high chair in the kitchen, her crib in the bedroom. I gathered her tiny clothes and put them in the laundry, her stuffed animals.

  I was incapable of sharing my grief with anyone. I was paralyzed. I disappeared into our sofa and put Alice’s blanket over me. In order to keep her close, smell her scent.

  Daniel tried everything: he pleaded and begged and prayed, finally he screamed at me. He got no response; I was catatonic. In the end he pulled away. Gave in to his own grief. I don’t think he accused me, but I’m not entirely sure. Maybe he was angry with my negligence, my carelessness, my inattention? Maybe not. He never said anything. Not once did he ask how I could have left Alice alone. But still. It must have been there. I chose not to see it; that would have been too much to bear.

  Sixteen weeks passed. No sign of life from our daughter. No trace, no news from the police. Sixteen weeks passed without many signs of life from me, either. Daniel packed up his belongings and moved out. He heaved his bag over his shoulder, looked at me a long time before turning around.

  I stayed on the sofa and let him go.

  * * *

  • • •

  Milo’s shoes aren’t in the hall when I get home. No sign of Henrik, either, but his jacket is hung up and his car is parked outside. He must be home. My heart pounds as I walk up the stairs. I’m so pissed off I’m shaking. He let me down; he must have talked to Daniel behind my back. Warned him I was having a relapse. That I was becoming manic. He’s worried about you. Who else has he contacted? Did he call everyone to tell them how unbalanced and sick I am?

  In the bedroom his exercise clothes are hanging over the laundry basket. He’s been out running. I can hear the shower from inside the bathroom. The door is open slightly, and I go in. I see Henrik behind the frosted glass door.

  I pull it open. He turns around and sees me.

  “Where have you been?” he says and turns off the water. He grabs a towel and wraps it around his hips. I take one step forward and slap him across the face. He stares at me as if he can’t believe what just happened.

  “What are you doing?” he says, rubbing his hand on his face. I shove him, pound my fists on his chest.

  “How could you?” I scream. “How the hell could you do that to me?”

  Henrik grabs my arms, preventing my blows. So I start to kick. He takes a tougher grip on me and turns me around. Holds
me tight.

  “Let me go.” I fight to get free. “Let me go, I said.”

  “What the hell? What’s going on with you?” Henrik keeps hold of me with a firm grip.

  When he drops me, I bite his hand and spin around. He swears and inspects the mark left by my teeth. I raise my hand to slap him again. He catches my wrist, pushes me back against the wall, and holds it over my head.

  A drop of water runs down his bare chest. He bends over me. My free hand draws his head down toward me. I kiss him. Bite his lip.

  “What are you up to?” he whispers into my ear.

  I don’t answer. He lets go of me, takes a step backward.

  Buttons fly as I rip off my blouse. Henrik stares at me in silence. I grab his hips, press against him. We kiss each other, a long deep kiss. I reach in under the towel, grab him, and fondle his erection.

  He lifts me up and puts me down on the counter next to the sink. I pull the towel away, see how hard and stiff he is. I wrap my legs around his waist and he pulls me against him.

  He kisses my throat, my neck, grabs my hair hard. Pushes his tongue into my mouth. He unclasps my bra, throws it on the floor, and licks my breasts. His tongue circles around my nipples and I press my lips against his ear, whispering, Take me.

  He carries me to the bedroom. Throws me down on the bed and takes off my pants and my underwear. I try to sit up, but he pushes me on my back. He kneels and kisses the inside of my thighs, and I grab his hair and press myself against his face.

  His tongue slides around, tantalizingly slow. I twist, begging for more. He licks and nibbles. I’m close to coming when he stops and leans over me, says that’s enough. I pull him down on the bed, we roll around and fall over the side, down onto the floor.

  I straddle him, rubbing my wet pussy against his cock. His hands are on my breasts, on my ass. I kiss his shoulders and his neck and his flat stomach. He moans when I take him in my mouth. He’s big and hard and I’m sucking, licking; it gives me pleasure to see his pleasure, to hear him moan, feel his body tense, feel him getting close. He asks me to stop, says he wants to fuck me.

  I sweep my hair over his chest. He grabs hold of it and pulls me to the side. We roll around. He holds my wrists over my head with one hand and strokes my clit with his other hand. He slips into me, fills me completely. Our bodies thump against each other, against the floor. I scream as I come. Scream loudly and feel a sob arrive at the same moment.

  He’s still lying on me, and I wrap my legs around him. His heart hammers against mine.

  “Hello, love,” he says after a while. He rolls off me and turns to me. “Where have you been?”

  I don’t respond. I want to stay in this moment. Forget everything else. Crawl in closer to him, let him hold me, his body against mine. I want to have him again. I bend over him, kiss his lips. Take him in my hand, feel him hardening again.

  Henrik’s phone rings. He sighs, mumbles that he has to see who it is. He moves up onto the bed and answers. I creep up into bed and close my eyes. Henrik slaps my butt, and I look up. Don’t fall asleep, he mouths to me. But I’m too tired. No energy left. My brain is done after a long and terrible day. My body feels heavy and relaxed. I pull the blanket over me, Henrik pinches my thigh. Don’t fall asleep.

  When Henrik hangs up, he sits beside me for a long time. I don’t need to open my eyes to know that he’s watching me. I pretend to sleep and hear him get dressed. Before he leaves he kisses me on the forehead. He exits the bedroom and goes down the stairs.

  Stella

  When I wake up, Henrik is lying behind me. I turn around. He opens his eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say. “What time is it? Is it late?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” he says.

  “It’s been a long time.” I run my finger across his chest and lean over him, kiss his lips. Try to turn him on again. He caresses my cheek and looks into my eyes.

  I push up against him. “Do you want more?”

  “I want to talk,” he says.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nibble at his throat.

  “What happened earlier? Sooner or later we have to talk about it.”

  I get up from bed. Pull on a T-shirt and put my hair up in a knot.

  “If I remember correctly we were horny. We had sex on the floor and—”

  “Stella, please stop,” Henrik interrupts. He sits up and leans back on the headboard. “You were furious with me when you came home. You hit me. Why?”

  My anger returns with full force.

  “Well, what do you think? Are you so stupid that you don’t know why? Or are you pretending?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How could I? I’m the last one to know. Just like last time.”

  “Stop,” I say. “Don’t throw that shit in my face.”

  I grab the laundry basket, throw off his exercise clothes, and start folding towels.

  “I’m sorry,” Henrik says. “That was uncalled for.”

  I throw the towels on the floor. Stand at the window staring out.

  “Honey, what did I do?” He sounds sincere. And the question is justified. I ponder how to answer. I’d prefer not to reveal what I did yesterday, that I was with Daniel.

  What was it Daniel said that made me so angry with Henrik? Made me feel sure Henrik had talked to him. Broken my trust. Now, what was it again? The uncomfortable feeling that I might have misinterpreted what Daniel said steals over me.

  Our daughter is dead.

  There is nothing we can learn.

  Alice is gone.

  We have to move on.

  You have a good man; he cares about you. He’s worried about you.

  Or was it? He might be worried about you? Isn’t he worried about you? He’s surely worried about you?

  When Henrik is feeling guilty he can’t hide it. He’s essentially honest and usually takes responsibility for what he does. I do, too, usually. That’s the kind of relationship we have.

  Had. It’s not Henrik who’s being dishonest, it’s me. And my guilty conscience is making me project onto everyone but myself.

  Henrik rises and pulls on his gray sweatpants.

  “Okay, I’ll guess,” he says. “You’re mad at me because I don’t think Alice is alive? Because I don’t believe that you’ve found her?”

  “I hate feeling like you think I’m crazy. That I’m imagining things. That you talk about me to Mom, to Pernilla, behind my back.”

  “First of all, I haven’t talked to Pernilla. Nor your mother. I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s not true.”

  I start to say something, but he holds up his hand like a traffic cop.

  “Secondly, please don’t tell me what I think, what you think I’m telling people. You’re the therapist here, right? If you want to know what I’m thinking, ask.”

  He’s right. And I realize he hasn’t called Daniel.

  Henrik continues. “Also, have you ever heard me say you’re nuts or crazy? Have you?”

  “No,” I admit. “You’ve never said it.”

  “Then for fuck’s sake, stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “Just because I don’t jump for joy immediately doesn’t mean I think you’re crazy. You tell me nothing, avoid me, and then throw yourself at me. Can you see I might wonder what’s going on?”

  “I just wish you trusted me,” I say.

  “And I wish you talked to me. It’s much easier for me to trust you if you tell me what’s going on.” He settles down on the edge of the bed again. “You’re the smartest woman I know. You’re usually so rational, so logical. But lately I hear nothing but angry outbursts and baseless assumptions. It’s not like you.”

  “How do you think you’d react? How do you think you’d feel? If you met Milo tw
enty-one years after losing him?”

  “You’ve met a girl who looks like Alice’s aunt. That’s all. Isabelle has a biological mother. Who happens to be very worried. Still, you’re sure it’s Alice. You see conspiracies everywhere. You think everyone is against you. You think that the doctors, the school Isabelle went to, all of them are lying? Do you seriously believe that someone could take a child and then pretend it’s their own without arousing suspicion?”

  “I’ve warned you, Henrik. Many times. There’s something wrong with me.”

  “You’ve warned me? What are you talking about now?”

  “From the beginning.”

  Henrik throws up his arms in defeat. “I give up. I’m not following you anymore.”

  “Goddamn it, Henrik. You make it sound like I—”

  He stops me, points to the door.

  “Milo?” he says.

  “Dad?” Milo’s voice sounds tiny.

  “Come in, buddy.”

  The door opens, and Milo peeks in. He looks at Henrik, looks at me. The fear in his eyes hurts me.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” I say softly, to make it clear I’m not angry.

  “I was just looking for a phone charger.”

  “You can take the one there in the wall,” Henrik says. “Next to the bureau.”

  “Come here, honey,” I say. Milo drags his feet in my direction. I hug him.

  “Do you feel better now, Mom?”

  “Feel better?” I wonder and stroke his hair.

  “Dad said you had a headache.”

  I glance at Henrik, but he’s looking at Milo.

  “Yes, I’m fine now,” I answer. “How was the game?”

  He shrugs. “Fine.”

  “Go back to bed now,” Henrik says, putting one arm around Milo. They head down the stairs, and I can hear Henrik speaking calmly to our son. I pick up the towels I threw on the floor and put them back in the laundry basket.

  Stella