21

I remember when I met her.

The sweet librarian recommended books to some children.

Her lemon-green eyes captivated mine with just one look.

I don't even remember why I ended up in the library that year; I was so desperate, thinking of a solution. I had promised my father that I would marry someone before turning thirty.

Damn, I forgot how difficult it is to find a good woman nowadays.

Until I resorted to what I do best, business. A win-win for both of us.

I would keep my father's company in our hands, and make my mother happy in the process. And she would have money, enough to squander.

Even though she quit her job later for some reason unknown to me, I kept going there just to remember the way we looked at each other the first time.

I had never seen such a clear and pure gaze as the one Michelle showed me that day.

I seemed like a damn maniac, observing the library and imagining her attending to every person who came in.

I sigh, dialing her number after so long. And I feel a certain relief that thanks me for stopping torturing myself.

Hello?

She changed her number, but I have it.

I lick my lips, which tremble for some reason, just like my breathing becomes slow.

Oh, the power she has over me is so great.

Hello? Is anyone there?

I hang up, then let out a growl. I slump back in my seat with exhaustion; I didn't want to go home, but it was almost nighttime.

I exhale sharply, starting the car and heading to where I feel the most alone. The phone vibrates on the passenger seat; I pick it up without taking my eyes off it and answer without looking at the number. I can hear everything clearly through the earpiece.

"Arthur Müller," I answer.

Arthur, it's Harold. I have something to tell you.

"Well, say it, I don't have my damn life to spare.

I hear him sigh and murmur something unintelligible to my ears. I grip the steering wheel in fury. The desire to talk about my legal duties is nonexistent right now.

The only thing I feel like doing is sleeping, and I can't even do that.

There's a photo circulating on social media of Michelle with Axel Malik. Arthur, she...

I bite my lip, tapping the steering wheel with my fingers. I don't like suspense, especially when it comes to her.

"What about her? What about her, damn it?!" I shout, agitated.

The mere thought that something might have happened to her gnaws at my chest; I feel my heart stop beating just imagining it. I swallow hard, feeling my teeth ache along with my fingers.

She looks pregnant, Arthur.

I open My lips, my vision begins to blur, and I can't reach the approaching car. I manage to hear the honking of several cars along with Harold's call on my cellphone before I quickly turn the steering wheel to avoid the collision.

My car veers off the road, ending up overturned. The impact on my body is strong, and even though I'm wearing a seatbelt, the jolts shake me from side to side. Until a sharp blow to my head makes me lose consciousness.

(...)

Her words continue to echo in my head.

I don't know what's happening around me; the ringing in my ears makes it impossible to grasp what's happening in my surroundings.

"Check if he has any documents that tell us who he is," I hear someone say.

The desire to speak up and tell them that I am Arthur Müller makes me tremble. Nothing but moans come out of my mouth; my body feels heavy with horror, and everything hurts.

The memories come flooding back, the way I tried to avoid the other car and ended up overturned on the street.

I had an accident for the first time.

"It's Arthur Müller. Businessman and son of the owner of Müller Enterprises. How can you not know who he is?"

I think they start arguing; I wouldn't know. Suddenly, I feel my heart stop for minutes, and the noise around me tells me that it's not a good sign.

"He's in cardiac arrest! Quick, we need to resuscitate him!"

I hear them yelling; my vision fades again, but before that, I manage to muster a small smile.

Michelle was here with me. And she's smiling at me.

I adore her smile.

*

*

*

Michelle Stone.

My days are summed up in eating, feeling sick, and eating again.

Until I came across a news channel where Axel and I were seen holding hands, both dressed in light blue tones. The girl speaking annoyed me; how could they conclude that out of nowhere?

"I wondered how long it would take for them to release their fake news," the guy I live with comments.

I gaze at Axel; he's leaning against the wall with his arms forward, completely serious, slowly wiping his hands. I notice that he's wearing the same outfit he uses for painting.

I turn off the TV.

"You and I know it's a lie."

"Yes, but I know how that affects you. You don't like appearing in the media, Michelle."

I gulp, he's right. Although for a while I had to get used to cameras capturing what I do, flashes illuminating my face, which was mostly presentable with good makeup and a perfect smile accompanied by a beautiful dress.

All for the photos with the great businessman Arthur Müller.

I furrow my eyebrows, remembering his words from the time I stayed at his house. From which I escaped as soon as he fell asleep.

"I should be the one apologizing. It's because of me that they create these speculations, right?" I shrug.

Pretending to downplay it, but making sure to notice any change in his face. Then it happens, Axel lowers his gaze to his hands and continues to clean them quickly. He finishes and puts the handkerchief in his back pocket without looking up.

I press my lips, looking away from him. I swallow hard at his defensive attitude.

"Hasn't your little friend told you anything?"

His voice resonates in my head, and it bothers me that something inside me tells me that perhaps Arthur was telling me something that might be true.

I don't know Axel. Not enough.

"I want to show you something," I look at him.

I nod, getting up. He helps me by holding me by the waist and leading me in front of him. My belly is growing along with my body weight, but I can't complain.

Not when I feel my child.

Being a mother never crossed my mind, at least not at my age. I thought I would have children at thirty at the earliest, yes, a rather odd age. Despite that, something inside me told me that by the time I turned thirty, I would have most of the things I wanted.

And I could have the stability I want for my family.

Is it wrong to think of being well in every possible way before starting a family with someone? No. Because the pillar of a family is stability. Without stability, the family breaks apart. And I don't want something else broken.

However, my somewhat stable stability wasn't an excuse or a reason not to love the child.

I love my child. I want them with me.

"What is it?" I question, confused.

Living with Axel has never been so easy. We understand each other; we are so different and yet so alike.

We rarely argue about anything other than what to have for dinner or why my shampoo doesn't last.

Well, he likes coffee shampoo.

"A gift for my nephew," he murmurs, relaxed.

I narrow my eyes, looking at him intently. His eyes analyze me excitedly. The paint on his cheeks and hair amuses me, but despite that, I manage to tiptoe and push his hair away from his forehead.

He gives me a small smile that feels grateful.

"Another one?" I inquire.

Surprised because gifts are what I've received most from him, from clothes and accessories for the baby and me to small shelves and toys.

"It's never enough for you," he says. "Now, come on, I want to see your reaction."

We start walking again; he drags me along the hallway, past his room and the room where he paints. Until we reach mine, but we don't stop there, we stop at another door that I never opened because it was always locked.

I began to think it was another room where he painted.

"Axel, what are we doing here?"

"To appreciate art," he says.

He opens the door, and I am stunned. I feel him gently pushing me as I observe everything with astonishment and excitement.

In a completely white room, the color is not important. What made my eyes well up with tears was the fact that the walls were adorned with baby designs, a crib and a bed, a space with a chair and a shelf of children's books. Toys are neatly arranged on a shelf as well.

I choke back a sob.