Hope

Hope
Michael became vulnerable to me.

Knowing everything he went through hurts my soul and awakens an uncontrollable desire to trust him. To be able to open up and feel the relief he showed when he told me what hurt him the most. It can’t be wrong to open up to my husband. The way he looks at me gently, despite the pain, makes me want to hug him and hide from the world until all the pain becomes just a memory.

I knew Andrew was cruel, but I never imagined it was on this level. He dismembered his wife in front of the children to break each of them and prevent them from being happy or knowing love. I don’t know how the three managed to survive such cruelty. Hannah must have loved them with a strength no one else could have, strong enough to save all three of their souls.

We are gathered in the living room watching old recordings of Hannah with the children. Andrew’s monster has disappeared, and I hope it stays that way. He doesn’t have the right to ruin the bubble of comfort the siblings created while they smile with tears in their eyes, seeing their mother on screen. Now she is holding Emily on her lap while talking to Matthew, teaching him how to hold his sister. Michael laughs behind the camera at his brother, afraid of dropping the youngest.

"I thought if I touched you, you’d break," Matthew says laughing. "I think it took me almost a month to hold you properly." He pulls Emily under his arm, smoothing her hair.

"Good thing you were careful, unlike Michael," she says, glancing at her older brother out of the corner of her eye.

"You didn’t know how to hold a baby?" I ask, looking at my husband’s chin, my head resting on his shoulder.

"Of course I did," he takes the remote and fast-forwards the video. "I was the best at not letting Emily fall."

I focus on the screen, watching teenage Michael laughing as he holds his sister in his arms and runs around the room with her. Even though he’s holding her properly, I worry the video will end with Emily falling and crying. Hannah smiles calmly, watching her children play together.

"Come here, Mickey," she calls softly. "If you keep doing that, Milly will vomit."

Hannah finishes the sentence, and Emily vomits on her brother, who makes a face, pushing her away. Matthew starts laughing and teasing his brother, who in revenge hugs him, getting him covered in vomit. I giggle; I didn’t expect that ending.

"You’re so mean," I say to Michael.

"Just a little," he pinches my waist.

"So your mother called you Mickey," I say, looking into his eyes. He blushes slightly hearing his childhood nickname.

"I was her Mickey," he says with love. "Emily was Milly and Matthew was Thew. That’s what she called us when we were alone."

"Ah, I miss hearing Mommy say, 'Come here, my Mickey Mouse,'" he says, laughing.

"Do you remember," Emily waves her hands excitedly as she speaks, "she bought a Mickey outfit and dressed you in it? I wasn’t born yet, but I have the pictures in my room. Want to see, Hope?"

"Of course," I say eagerly.

"No way," Michael responds. "I told you to burn those photos."

"We’ll never erase this evidence," Matthew declares. "You were Mickey, I was Donald Duck, and when Emily was born, she became Minnie."

"I really need to see those photos," I say, standing up anxiously to find evidence of my grumpy husband’s childhood. His cheeks turn bright red.

"You’re not going anywhere," Michael pulls me by the hand, making me sit trapped in his lap. "Keep watching," he orders.

I giggle.

The four of us continue our marathon of home videos, and after much insistence, Michael lets Emily grab the photos from their childhood. I’m amazed to see the cartoon outfits on two-year-old Michael, each memory being shared, and love filling the mansion for the first time since I’ve been here. I feel truly at home, protected and surrounded by a strong, warm feeling.

"You couldn’t spend this day together, could you?" I ask the siblings.

"Yes," Michael responds. "For a few years, each of us isolated ourselves in our own space."

"From today on, you’ll never be apart on your mother’s death anniversary again. Let’s make an annual holiday and always remember your mother with what she wanted most: her children united and loving each other. Deal?"

"Yes," they reply with a smile.

"Later," Matthew says, and I notice the shadows circling his mind. "We’ll make a day to celebrate Andrew’s death. That bastard will pay for every pain he caused us."

"Aren’t you afraid anymore?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

For me, who lives in fear of secrets being revealed and causing destruction, it’s almost unthinkable to consider rebelling. Yet, the siblings have fire in their eyes, hatred as fierce as molten lava.

"Fear only gives Andrew power," Michael says. "I was weak, spending years avoiding him and obeying, hoping he would leave my brothers alone. But one night, I came home early after a mission and found him—" He pauses, clenching his fist and closing his eyes as if the memory is stabbing his chest.

"It’s okay, Michael," Emily says, eyes brimming. "You can tell Hope. I trust her." She stretches her hand across my husband’s torso, holding mine. "Andrew tried to make Matthew rape me."

"No," I shout horrified.

"I would never hurt Emily," Matthew says, a tear rolling down his cheek, "but that sadistic bastard, he was dissatisfied with my performance in the organization. He tried to punish me in other ways, and I worked hard to be what he wanted." Matthew clenches his fists, closing his eyes tightly. "But he knew he could only truly hurt us if he punished one of us."

"He sent me on a mission to Italy," Michael continues. "I should have suspected, but at that time I was numb, doing everything he ordered without question."

"Both of you stop blaming yourselves," Emily shouts, her eyes red, but she sheds no tears, while my chest tightens in sobs. "None of us are responsible for Andrew’s actions. He planned everything, sent Michael away, drugged Matthew, and trapped us." She inhales deeply, her eyes full of murderous rage meeting mine. "My brothers are as much victims as I am, of that sadistic bastard."

"Michael arrived in time," Matthew says. "And since then he’s been standing up to Andrew. The bastard still tries to use us to control Michael, but we’re smarter and tougher now. I’ll never give him a chance to drug me again, and one day we’ll tear every piece of skin from him, destroy him like he did to our mother."

"But first, I’ll take everything from him," Michael states firmly, determined. "He will beg for mercy and regret everything he did before he dies."

"You are all so strong," I say, smoothing Michael’s chest and looking at the siblings.

The three of them have become unbreakable walls.

After dinner, each goes to their room. I take a long, relaxing shower with Michael, and we go to bed. He sits leaning against the headboard, and I on his lap, rubbing his bare shoulders, muscles relaxed after a comforting day where the siblings grew even closer.

"Today you turned a storm into a calm breeze," he says, looking at me. "Thank you, my Hope."

"Always share with me when you’re not okay. I promise I won’t break and will give you the strength to keep going. I know your work is hard and that sometimes you don’t like what you do, but I’m here for you." I stroke his goatee.

"I go crazy wanting to get home just to find you," he confesses. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to work and think about my sexy wife and what she’s doing?" he asks playfully.

"As if you weren’t watching me through the cameras." I raise an eyebrow. "I always notice when you zoom in on my face."

"Who said it’s on your face? It’s always on your ass," he jokes, pinching my flesh. I laugh loudly as his beard brushes my neck.

"You pervert!" I hit his shoulder. "I’m here trying to comfort you, and all you think about is sex."

"A very good sex that we have together." He kisses behind my ear. "But I especially like when I come home and you greet me with a smile and then ask how my day was. I’ll always keep darkness away from our walls, but hearing that little phrase makes it easier to breathe when I’m away. Because I have you to share with."

"You’re completely different from what I imagined," I say, gathering courage to release the feeling burning in my chest. "Our days as a married couple make me feel at home," my eyes well up. "For years I was told I could never marry, have children, and love." I put a finger on his lips, stopping him from interrupting. "You’ve made me desire a world I thought was impossible, and by your side I feel like I can do anything," I smile. "Will you give me just a little more time? I promise in the end I’ll give you my soul and everything I hide in it."

"I’ll wait an eternity for you." He strokes my cheek, wiping away a solitary tear. "My little Hope, the only one who made my dead heart beat again. When you’re ready, I’ll make you feel like me," he pulls my face to his, lightly touching our lips, "free and experiencing love."

I kiss his passionate lips, sliding inside him, drawing his taste into me. I hug his chest, giving a long peck before resting my head on his shoulder. The words dance on my lips, but it’s not the right moment yet; I need more of Michael before he knows who I really am.

I kiss his chest tenderly, determined to ease the tension from his skin. I may not have the courage to say it in words, but I’ll show him with my body how grateful I am that we’re together and how much I love him. His hand strokes my head as I move down with my tongue, tracing the ridges of his abdomen.

I kiss the scars I find on his white skin, lavishing each with affection. I stretch out on the bed, pull the elastic of his pajama pants; he raises his hips, making it easier to remove, his hard length brushing against his navel. I hold the thick base, moving it back and forth before taking the pink tip into my mouth. I kiss and suck his taste into me.

I suck him, listening to his deep moans, scratching his skin. The hand that caressed my head closes around my hair, pulling it into a ponytail as Michael presses my head against him. His thick member fills my mouth; I hold my breath to avoid gagging at the feeling of him in my throat. The hoarse moan awakens something inside me, flooding me with the desire to have him for myself.

I release him with a “pop” before taking him into my mouth again. Michael is enormous, and I can’t take it all; what’s left I slobber on and stroke with my hand, pumping quickly. His moans intensify, and the grip on my hair loosens, signaling he’s about to come. I slide my tongue over the pink tip of his member, scratching the sensitivity with my teeth—I know he likes it when I do that.

The hot, salty stream fills my mouth; I swallow everything, leaving not a drop behind. I clean him eagerly, longing to have him inside me. I ascend, planting kisses along my husband’s chest until I find his mouth. In a hungry kiss, Michael grabs my ass, making me straddle him. Even though he just came, I still feel him hard beneath me.

His mouth slides over my chin, biting and kissing, attacking my neck as he lays me down on the bed. Despite the hunger, his movements are slow and delicate. Michael loves me as I love him. He removes my lace nightwear, exposing my breasts to his passionate eyes, shining in a different way. He smiles before lowering his face between them, kissing my skin gently.

My heart races, feeling what’s to come. His mouth opens, ready to speak, but I stop him, pressing up and sealing my lips to his. I couldn’t bear to hear words of affection and love before he knows who I really am. The possibility of having love in the palm of my hand and losing it to the mess of my past makes me tremble with a new fear.

"Hope," he says, his voice filled with passion.

"No," I plead. "Today we won’t speak, only feel." I hold his jaw, pulling his mouth to mine, preventing him from saying a word.

"Don’t be afraid to feel with me, Hope," he whispers in my ear. "Receive all my—" I swallow his word with a desperate kiss.

I sob against his lips; he doesn’t need to say it—I can feel in every part of me how much Michael loves me. I press our faces together, his hand holding my hip, laying me down again. He kisses my jaw, finding my eyes; his hand slides between our bodies, finding my intimacy ready to receive him.

I don’t want to stop kissing him, pulling him closer, opening my legs to welcome him. Big, thick, and gentle, Michael fills every part of me. His pelvis thrusts against mine, his broad chest over mine, our skin rubbing as he moves in and out, our lips glued together as we devour each other’s moans.

The universe stops, and we are swallowed into a parallel world where nothing else exists. Only Michael and I, our bodies moving together as one. Time ceases, pleasure floods every cell in my body, the blue of his eyes looking at me full of tenderness and desire. His warm breath brushes my face, a small vibration beginning inside me, our movements faster, stronger, driving us to an explosion of love.

"You’re mine," he says firmly, thrusting one last time before collapsing in release.

"And you’re mine," I smile, "completely, I’m yours," I confess softly, intoxicated by the orgasm, the result of making love.

"And I’m completely yours." He smiles mischievously before kissing me.

Just a little longer—I’ll savor Michael and his silent passion while I prepare to break the promise I made to my family and trust my husband entirely.