'Shut your mouth, girl! You will be no one's wife but mine, do you understand me?!' I whimpered as he pinned me to the bed and pressed his palm into my lower belly. 'This womb of yours shall only carry my children. Don't you even dare to think about...
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--Allison--
Today, my mind had been a little clearer than it had been yesterday. Much had occurred. However, I had been lulled to sleep last night by the voice of my brother, and the encouraging words of my fiancé and his father. And, now, with their messages motivating my will, I felt a little more courageous than I had been before.
Dried grass crinkled underneath my footsteps. Winter's wind was chilling and sucked the vitality out of nature. Soon, the first flakes of frost would fall, coating the entire city in a blanket of white, like the powdered dusting to some lovely beignets. I giggled to myself in the delight of the little treats that Father would bake on our birthdays, alongside some yogurt cake or a fruit tart.
Timothée's twenty-first birthday would be in just a few short, fleeting weeks. Isaac's would follow closely afterwards, only a year younger than my brother. The wait would truly be as brief as these past few months had been. But, when the celebratory day came upon us, Father would whole-heartedly create some delectable sweets. And, I would cook a rare pot of boeuf bourguignon as it was my brother's favourite. We would dress the table with our best cutlery and candles and we would then say a prayer for Mother, as we had been doing on our birthday dinners since we were born. Christianity ran strong and strict on her side of the family. Father had told stories of her parents' disapproval of the religiously incompatible marriage but my mother had married for love, not for religion. Though, this was also why I had never met my maternal grandparents before.
A solace breath unfurled into the icy air as I trekked the unruly nest of weeds and overgrowth that had forsaken the abandonment of this park. The wind whistled through the twists of the trees and flipped my skirt around wildly like the childish pranks of a mischievous, little boy. I gripped the flapping folds tightly until the gust passed.
Timothée, Father, and me. It would be a first with just the three of us, but I didn't linger on that loss tragically. Quite the opposite, as I rather relished in the relief that there would at least be three of us. Yes. Because Timothée would have recovered by then to join us, and Father would not dare to miss even a single birthday of ours. The three of us would share memories and laughter together, accompanied by good food and filial solidarity. Just as it always had been...
Yes. It would happen...for certain. I had my hopes held close to my heart; my beliefs in my brother and father were synonymous. As Isaac had preached, their resilience would not fail their morals and duty to their family. And, so, I would continue to do the same, holding my confidence in them, strong and firm. I would manage this bakery by myself. Pay the fee by myself. The bills and rent for our residence by myself.
I too could do something besides loitering idly by, waiting for their recovery. This had been what I had wanted after all. Freedom and independence if I were to ever, by some miracle, earn an education and leave this cycle. These would have been the traits that were to be expected from me. And, I will not show an absence of them in these times of need.
