Chapter 2 2. Present Day!
Saintila's POV
The woman I became was forged in the fire, shaped by countless battles I never asked to fight. The path to motherhood has been an arduous pilgrimage, paved with years of disappointment, abuse, deception, and a deep, resonant heartbreak. I learned long ago that to survive, I had to tuck the misery deep inside my consciousness, where it couldn't shatter my focus. Now, in this enforced stillness, enduring a new kind of confinement, I realize that old, hardened strength was the only thing keeping me sane.
Looking intensely in the mirror, inspecting the silhouette of my face; I understood why having a face like mine was considered pretty. the ambitions and aspirations that once seemed so far away, and yet, here I was, having lived through so much. Life had taken me on unexpected detours, and I had learned to navigate through them with grace and determination.
Growing up, people always told me how pretty I was. But as a kid, I never really knew what that meant. It was just a word people used. My fingers lifted to lightly brush a strand of my black hair, and the memory surfaced instantly: my father, his big hands fumbling, trying to braid my hair. The thought made me smile.
As I stood there looking at my features, a storm of thoughts swirled in my mind and made me wonder what it would have been like to have Paulette around. And the feeling of having a mother growing up would certainly have lessened my suffering during my younger years. At that moment, well on my way to become a mother myself, I really wished I knew more About her.
My Father Jonas used to always say that people were just jealous, because no one could compare to his baby girl in the entire village. Thinking back of what he said, perhaps there was some truth to his sentiment. And made me realize those words were embedded deep in me, And they had given me the confidence to stand back up every single time I was knocked down.
The late afternoon silence had grown oppressive, my thoughts turning heavy and despondent. A restless energy pulled me from the mirror to the seat by the window. And for no reason at all, my mind drifted to Rose. She had been on my mind so much lately. It took me years to forgive her, but now I see my life could never have become what it was without her.
The gentle sound of the door opening broke my reverie. It was my husband. He walked toward me, his presence immediately filling the quiet room.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
I was settled in the chair, my seven-month belly a pronounced curve beneath my white shirt and shorts. Our eyes met, but I was too lost in my daze to return his smile.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but insistent.
I tried to smile. "It's nothing. Really, I'm okay."
He closed the distance, his gaze holding mine. "You are the strongest person I know, which is how I know that 'nothing' is everything right now." He took my hand. "Don't worry. I promise you; we will find her."
My eyes had drifted back to the window, feigning interest in the world outside. The soft afternoon glow illuminated the garden, making the flowers blush in the light, each one a keeper of its own secrets. In that moment, the love I felt for him was a physical force, so vast it stole my breath. I marveled at my sheer luck, not just to be alive, but to be alive and known so completely by him.
I felt his movement behind me, his presence a familiar warmth as his arms encircled my swollen belly, his hands resting protectively over my belly. Then, his lips found the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, and a cascade of shivers raced down my spine. A low, wanting heat bloomed deep within me. It had been so long. His embrace was a sanctuary, but the desire it sparked was a dangerous, thrilling current. I leaned back against him, a soft sigh escaping my lips, even as my mind issued a frantic warning. I wanted him with a desperate, aching urgency, but my body was not entirely my own.
The safety of our baby anchored us, a sacred boundary we could not cross. He always knew. It was a language that existed just between us, a silent current where my thoughts flowed directly into his understanding. I turned to face him; my smile was an unspoken testament to a gratitude too vast for words.
I lifted my hand, my long fingers combing gently through his soft blonde hair, sweeping the stray strands from his eyes. As our eyes locked, a profound and absolute security settled in me. A feeling I had spent a lifetime searching for. His palms, soft yet sure, rose to cradle my face, and in that touch, I felt completely wanted and cherished. When he whispered, "You are so beautiful," the words unraveled me. I rose onto my toes and closed the distance, my lips finding his in a kiss that felt less like an action and more like a completion.
I knew, with a certainty that lived deep in my bones, that this man loved me and would move heaven and earth for me. His response was immediate and passionate. His mouth welcomed mine, and the taste of him so familiar and intoxicating, filled my senses. We kissed with a desperate, tender intensity, a collision of souls where nothing else existed but the feel of his warm tongue against mine, the sound of our shared breath. I felt the hard tension coiling in his arms as they wrapped around me, a testament to the desire he was holding in check. We stood there, anchored only to each other, for a small, perfect eternity.
His arousal was unmistakable; a tense heat pressed against me. We kissed again, the hunger between us deepening into something more primal. Emboldened, I let my hand drift slowly downward, slipping inside the waistband of his pajama pants. I felt a shudder run through him, a tremor of pure, restrained desire. He wanted me desperately, yet his consideration for me and our baby held him in check. My fingers traveled further, cupping the warm, weight of his sac. I gave a gentle, knowing squeeze.
A low, guttural groan escaped his throat. "Woman... what are you doing to me?" he managed, his voice ragged between feverish kisses. It was not a question that required an answer; it was a surrender. I had him completely, exquisitely under my spell. My fingers continued their gentle exploration, and with every teasing stroke, his kisses grew more fervent, his control fraying at the edges.