22

"Axel, what...?"

"You didn't want to know if it was a boy or a girl, that's why the room is white. If you want, we can paint it later with whatever color you like..."

My heart tightens with each step I take in the room. The crib is made of wood, mahogany. It has a tiny pillow and stuffed animal toys on it. I pick up a teddy bear, and my tears finally flow.

My shoulders shake, and when I least expect it, I'm being embraced by him.

"I never had one," I manage to say, squeezing the bear to my chest. "This is... too much."

He didn't know, but unintentionally he was giving more than just a room to my child.

He was giving complete room to the little girl inside me.

"It's yours, Michelle. No one will take it away from you. No one will make you leave. You don't have to run," he lifts my face, and I meet his teary, red eyes. I nod, smiling minimally. "You're safe."

"You're safe.

A simple sentence I had never heard before and had never felt so real.

We stayed in that state for several minutes, me clinging to him, trying to stop crying from the overwhelming emotions and nostalgia.

Axel accepts us. He accepts me and accepts my son.

"Do you love us?" I ask.

Afraid to hear something I don't want to. He holds me tightly, but gently, so as not to hurt me.

"I paint for you, I don't know any other way to show it than this, Michelle."

I nod, releasing the held breath and letting my heart beat again. I stroke his back as I wipe my face on his shirt, using it to dry my tears.

"Please, don't leave us."

"Only if you stop using my shirt as a tissue," I laugh.

I separate from him, and he adjusts my loose strands of hair, offering me a small, gentle smile. As his eyes look at me with tenderness and affection, he raises a finger, telling me to wait a second.

He approaches the bed and pulls out a painting from underneath it. I run the back of my hand across my cheeks as I watch what he does. He holds the painting, covering it in a way that prevents me from seeing what it is.

"Why are you hiding it?" I ask with obvious curiosity.

Axel smiles, takes it delicately, and turns it around. I'm taken aback when I see myself painted in the picture.

I'm dressed in white, and my belly has grown. My smile is huge, and there's a sparkle in my eyes that I can't recognize in myself. I approach the painting with an open mouth; in the picture, I look so happy.

"You captured it," I look up. "You captured my happiness and turned it into art. You made me art, Axel."

"I only know that, Michelle. I can't miss the opportunity to see you happy and not paint you," he shrugs.

As if painting someone and being able to capture what others can't is something so simple.

"Is it another way of showing it?"

"Yes. It's another way to show you that I love you. I love you both. You're my family."

For the second time, I cry because of him, and the only thing that compensates for my tears is the fact that he offered to cook something instead of me.

(...)

My phone keeps ringing in the middle of the night.

I don't even know who it is as I pick it up, letting out some groans. Do people know how difficult it is to fall asleep when you're pregnant?

"Hello?" I yawn.

I close one eye as I wait for the other person to speak. If it's the same person who called me this afternoon, I'll change my number.

It's probably one of those reporters.

"Michelle?"

I purse my lips.

"Harold? Why are you calling at this hour?"

I move the phone away from my ear for a few seconds to check the time. It's the early hours of the morning. I don't understand why he would call at this hour, let alone how he got my number.

He sounds alarmed, his breathing is fast. I don't know what makes me slowly get up and put my feet into my slippers. I swallow, feeling something akin to fear for what is happening.

I stretch out my hand just to turn on the bedside lamp, scratching my leg as I press the phone to my ear, eager to hear everything he says.

"What's going on?" I question again. "Is it about Arthur? Did he try to do something about the contract again? Does he... want to renew it? He..."

I think Arthur...

I furrow my brows, digging my nails into my thighs at his broken and nervous tone. I clench my jaw, feeling the shivers running through my body from his panicked and fearful voice.

"Arthur, what?"

He doesn't respond. I ask again, shouting, a sound that makes Axel appear in my room wearing a Christmas-themed pajama.

Under different circumstances, I would have burst out laughing. Even though Christmas was approaching, his desperation was amusing.

But now, I was so nervous and confused that all I could do was look at him, lost.

Lost after that sentence that made me realize my mistake.

"Arthur is in the hospital, Michelle."

(...)

My senses are not functional right now.

When I think I'm walking quickly down the long hallway of the clinic, it feels like I'm walking on the moon and gravity is slowing me down.

I hear a ringing in my ears, causing me to shake my head from side to side, trying to hear clearly. Everything is blurry, like a written paper that has been wet and crumpled.

"Michelle, calm down!"

I shake my head.

"I can't..."

The only audible thing in my head was Harold's words about Arthur's condition. It was then that I realized the huge mistake of hiding our child from him.

I pass by Axel when I notice Harold talking to a doctor, walking desperately and unconsciously colliding with people. Harold notices my presence and walks towards me, unable to control his expression of astonishment at my state.

"So, it's true..." he murmurs.

Regardless of whether he cares in the slightest if I hear it. I gulp, running my hands through my hair, tied up in a bun, over and over again.

"How is he?" I stutter.

Harold shakes his head, sighing. He ruffles his blond hair and adjusts his glasses, and I notice his dark circles and glassy eyes.

I always knew that the way they treated each other was more like friends than bosses and employees. Arthur with Harold wasn't a bastard, at least not when he wasn't angry.

"He's stable," he hesitates. "Michelle, he..."

I tilt my head, waiting for him to finish speaking despite my immense desire to rush him to tell me what he has to say. I adjust my coat, feeling the cold intensify within these walls.

"What? Damn it, don't hold back," I growl.

"I was talking to him when it happened!" he exclaims, and I lick my lips, tears falling as I notice him crying. "It was my fault."

I shake my head, pulling him towards me to hug him, intending to comfort him.

"It was an accident," I reply, closing my eyes.

"I shouldn't have told him..."

I pull away, wiping my cheeks as I observe his anguish with regret. He's wearing pajamas; I don't know how long he's been here, but it's obvious he's spent several hours in this place.

"The important thing is that he's okay, Harold. Can I see him?"

He sniffs, looking up at me, confused and interested. His tousled blond hair gives him a youthful look.

"Do you want to see him?" the surprise in his tone makes me hesitate.

Did I want to see him? All I want is to know if he's okay. If he's not in danger of something happening to him.

I feel Axel's grip on my trembling arms, soothingly caressing them from top to bottom. My eyes burn and ache from all the time I've spent crying.

"Do it, Michelle," I lift my gaze.

Axel gives me a slight smile. He's just as surprised and distressed as I am. Maybe he didn't like Arthur, but seeing him in that state wasn't part of his dreams.

I shake my head.

"No. I can't," I decide.

I pull my arms away from his grasp and distance myself from both of them, thinking about all our arguments and fights. I don't want to go in and end up having another one.

Besides, I couldn't let him see me like this.

"Michelle," I turn, tensing my body at his harsh tone. "How many more signs do you need to tell that man..."

"AXEL!" I shout. He falls silent, and I release a sigh as I notice Harold speaking to the doctor again. "That's enough."

"You're the one who's had enough. I don't know what the hell you're waiting for to finally gather the courage and tell him, because you're acting like a coward, Michelle. Do you hear me? You're acting like a coward," he rants, getting closer to me.

I clench my jaw and fists, not believing that the same person who says Arthur is an idiot is the one calling me a coward.

"A coward for not wanting the man I know doesn't love me to know about my child?" I mutter through gritted teeth.

Axel takes my wrist, pulling me closer to him to speak to me in a lower voice than before.

"No, it's true, you're not acting like a coward. Let me put it better. You're acting selfishly, darling. So what if he doesn't love you? You can't guarantee that he won't love the child You're acting selfishly, darling. So what if he doesn't love you? You can't guarantee that he won't love the child just because he doesn't reciprocate your feelings. And, if I may add, he hasn't told you that either," he expresses angrily, furrowing his eyebrows to the point of almost merging them. His eyes radiate discontent. "You can't deny your child and him that right, Michelle. You can't. So please, go and tell him. Because if I were Arthur, I would never forgive you for keeping something like this from me."

He releases my wrist, and I let out a pained whimper before covering my face with my hands. I inhale, seeking Harold's gaze, silently asking him to take me to Arthur.

I make my way towards him, completely scared, fearing that what Axel said might be true.

Would I be able to bear it if Arthur never forgave me for keeping the baby a secret?

"Harold..."

He rushes towards me, slightly worried, and takes hold of my wrist, dragging me along with him quickly.

"You have to see him. The doctors have been sedating him to keep him calm. They say he hasn't stopped calling for you since he woke up."

I open my mouth in surprise, allowing him to guide me. I glance back at Axel, who nods in my direction and smiles at me.

I try to return it, but before I can, I find myself facing Arthur alone. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles, slowly, his gaze dropping. And his smile fades.

"Arthur," I clear my throat, licking my lips and blinking. "We need to talk."