Chapter 119

He doesn’t regret it. But he feels bad. What does that mean? I race down the stairs as fast as I can, my car keys dangling in my hand. Hopefully, I look sane with the way I hurriedly dressed and left. I need to talk to Clarissa but about what? Do I want to tell her what Brandon said? What if she calls the police on him? Will she do that? She won’t.

All these questions yet no answers. I miss a step and reach blindly for the bannister but my hand slices through thin air. A scream tears through my lips, my hands go around my stomach to protect my baby as I slide down the stairs and onto the marble floor.

Tears cloud my vision, a sharp pain shoots from my stomach to all parts of my body when I try to sit up so I lay back on the floor while propping myself up on an elbow. As much as I want to, I can’t lie down, it’s not good for the baby but my body needs me to relax. One of my legs hang from the stairs, I whimper in the process of trying to lift it.

“Brandon,” I call in a small voice, eyes darting to the top of the stairs. My eyelids flutter, a moan escapes me. I register the stickiness between my legs and scream, “Brandon.”

Darkness calls, I push it away as I roll to my side. I should have taken my phone. Tears coat my lashes. I mutter a prayer. Heavy footsteps approach the stairs, they quickly turn frantic and soon enough, firm hands are lifting me off the ground. I peel my eyes open.

Confused at the double blurry images that appear in my vision, I jam my eyes shut. “I think I’m bleeding,” I manage to say before giving in to the calm slowly surrounding me.

Peace.

Joy like a river flows in my heart, the bed is not as soft as the one in my bedroom but I curl or try to curl myself into a ball until my hand touches my belly. My eyes fly open.

Where am I? I squint at the ceiling lights, trying to swim above the incoherent thoughts. Everything rushes back in pieces. Brandon. His confession. The fall down the stairs.

“My baby, my baby,” I cry out, frantic as my eyes search the room for anyone to answer my question. Brandon appears and takes my hands which I’m rubbing over my tummy with fear. I direct my stare to him. “How’s my baby?” I hiccup, tears trickle out of my eyes. I am a bad mother. I don’t think I can do this. I put myself and my baby at risk.

“They are fine,” he replies. 

I sniff. “Are you sure?” More tears leak from my eyes. I need someone to tell me I’m not doing this wrong and the slip could have happened to anyone. I don’t want to bring a girl into this world when I can’t even take care of myself. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“I know.” He sweeps the hair matting my forehead. “Don’t be sorry. I promise, they are fine.” Nodding, my mouth opens but I have nothing to say. He frowns. “Don’t cry, wife.” I smile while he wipes the snot running down my nose with a napkin by the bed. I take a look around the unfamiliar room and my face scrunches. “We are at the hospital.”

Silence takes over us as I scan the room. The white walls and closed windows give us privacy. The ultrasound machine by the side of my bed with the screen turned off. I look to the door which opens and the doctor walks in with a smile so bright I have to smile.

Brandon moves to the other side to hold my hand and the doctor takes his place. Our skins are the same tone but unlike me, he’s bald and the white ceiling lights reflect on his scalp. He pushes his glasses up his nose, settles down on the stool, his smile intact.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Woozy,” I say with a small laugh, feeling bad when Brandon strokes the inside of my palm. I lied about it when he asked, I am not sure I want to talk to him. My head turns to him. My smile fades when it occurs to me he addressed my baby with a plural. “Who’s they?” One brow goes up, I growl. “You said they are fine when I asked about my baby.” 

Brandon’s eyes light up, darting between the doctor and back to me. Antsy, I groan and he chuckles. Bringing my hands to his lips, he says, “Our babies. We are having twins.”

Twins. 

Brandon is a twin. Brendan and Brandon. 

The withdrawal is subtle, the freezing of my heart and the balling of my hands into fists to stop Brandon from holding me. I twist my neck to face the doctor who confirms the information with a nod. His lips move but I don’t hear one word. Brandon’s confession rushes back to me, hitting me hard. I sniff and my chest tightens with the realisation.

I am having twins. He killed his twin brother.

“Mrs Stark?” I hear. My eyes on the doctor encourage him to keep going. Though I am the centre of attention, it feels like I’m watching everything through a glass window, afraid to confront my reality. “... Sometimes one of the twins hide behind the sibling...”

The next few seconds are a blur, I give vague answers to questions I barely hear. I feel him rubbing the gel onto my skin, followed by the hand-held device which the doctor runs over my bump. A black and white picture appears on the screen, I stare at it, barely processing the twin images or the doctor’s explanation. We are having twins. Babies.

“Can you see them?” Brandon asks, taking my hand in his and disgust stirs inside me. 

The baby, no, my babies are huddled close as if seeking comfort from each other. A grin spreads across my lips, the disgust dissolves as I gawk at the screen, content. My girls.

Double blessings. 

“Print it, please, I want a copy,” I hear myself say but my voice sounds forced. Brandon makes a similar request. The doctor responds with a nod, cleans my stomach. Before he has a chance to pull my shirt down, Brandon places a kiss on my bump and beam at me.

Holding the sonogram in my hand after the doctor leaves the room to give us privacy, I can’t help smiling at it. “Daddy’s little girls,” Brandon whispers in my ear and I giggle. I didn’t lie when I told him he would be a great daddy. Great daddy but a terrible brother.

Tears well up my eyes, he wipes them before they can fall and I lost the gall to tell him how I feel about his confession. He must have sensed it, when his lips claim mine in a gentle kiss, I hear the plea he tries to convey silently and my heart breaks all over again.

We are having twins but my husband killed his twin brother. Murder is murder, or is it not? Life hasn’t always been black and white but this is a grey area that confuses the hell out of me. His question comes back to haunt me. Knowing his crime, do I still want him?

I don’t know.

Cupping my cheeks, he pecks my nose and I know he’s waiting for my response. That unsure look crosses his face, I smile. “I love you,” I tell him, words laced with sincerity.

Stunned by my reply, his smile wavers and I weave my hands into his beard and tug on it. He winces but doesn’t pull away. I flash him a wide smile he returns, memories from our good times replay in my head, melting my resolve and silencing my conscience.

For this small moment, I pretend we are fine and he didn’t confess to killing his brother a few hours ago. Pulling his head down, I kiss him until we are breathing the same air.