Thread of Fate

Chapter 2

Inspired by The Wisp Sings - Winter Aid

How many times would a person have to disappoint you for you to stop expecting anything from them? For you to stop waiting for that change you always hoped for. When you think things would finally turn for the better, that you were the one inspiring that change in them... and then the bitter reality bites you in the ass. Again. Alas, there was no one else to blame but yourself.

That was how I felt daily. Every time I looked at my husband and I just knew he was with her as soon as he walked through the threshold. I felt the fall every time I thought I could rely on him only to be let down. The bitter truth could scream in my face, yet I always had hope. Why?!

Not even the aftermath of the incident with Tristan lasted long enough to keep the high going. The moment I walked into the house last night, still blushing just from the memory of his gentle touch, the bittersweet reality of my life bulldozered down everything. I tried to hold on to it, to the knowledge that I wasn't a lost cause, as my husband liked to remind me. That I was still worthy of someone's time and affection.

But that was the thing about feelings. At least in my case. The good ones were fleeting as if to tease me by their presence, to remind me that there was something better out there only if I weren't a coward to reach for it. But the bad ones, the ones that pulled you to the dark and suffocated you... well, those turned out victorious every damn time. Like the lack of oxygen to a flame, they snuffed out even the tiniest flicker of promise for a better life.

So, as the cowering fool I was, I did nothing. Even when the most inconsequential blip was blamed on me, when my husband's cheating was my fault, or the way things didn't turn out for him was because of an error on my part-I stayed. For over ten years, he moulded me into the perfect submissive wife who didn't talk back and just took scraps thrown at her. I always judged women who let anyone walk over them like they were nothing until I became that woman myself. Until I realised that not everything was black and white and that sometimes things were just too complicated to deal with.

Or maybe that was my subconscious kicking into preserving mode to keep me somewhat sane throughout all this. I didn't have anyone to spill my guts to who would not look at me with prejudice and pity, so I kept it all in. My children were the only light I allowed myself to draw warmth and energy from to help me keep going. They were the ember of what was left of my fiery soul, still glowing with the belief in a better future. I just needed to act on it.

Tristan Hayes opened my eyes to the things I willingly ignored. It was comfortable and familiar, for the most part, so why change? But he made me want to be more. Just like once upon a time, I was everything my husband wanted. We had long talks; he cared and I could see the love he had for me. Or maybe that was what I wanted to believe. I wouldn't be the first or the last who fell for the allure of what our soul desired, pushed aside the warning signs and dived in headfirst. Well, in that case, this was my penance, I guess.

The buzz of my phone on the nightstand brought me back to the sad reality. Checking a text from my parents wishing me a happy birthday somewhat elevated my spirit, but even that wasn't enough to put me in a good mood. Just another ordinary day, pretending all was dandy, and I wasn't breathless and paralysed under the facade.

"Mommy, mommy... happy birthday!" Giggling and a joyful gentle wind breezed in with the three treasured gifts I was given. One by one, they jumped on the bed, throwing their arms around me in a tight embrace.

"Thank you, my lovebugs," I whispered in their hair and squeezed them like my life depended on it. It took great strength to stop the tears from escaping and turning into a sobbing mess. "Did you dream of knights and unicorns?"

I spent the next few minutes listening to stories of magical kingdoms and three-headed dragons as my children recounted every aspect of their dreams. The time spent in their presence did wonders for the emptiness and loneliness that usually settled in me.

"Why don't you go brush your teeth and get dressed while I prepare something to eat?" The change on their faces at the mention of anything else but fun was hilarious. "The tickle monster is awakening, and he's hungry for children who don't want to brush their teeth!" I pretended to launch myself at them, and with a squeak and pounding feet, they hurried to their rooms.

The warmth of their presence they left behind slowly dissipated as I got out of bed, took a shower and got dressed - like a mechanical doll wound up for other people's entertainment. I dragged myself to the kitchen to get a coffee and prepare breakfast for the kids, but his domineering presence at the kitchen table stopped me in my tracks.

"Morning," I managed the raspy word. I shuffled to the coffee machine, with my back to him and I had to deter my thoughts to a safer place so I didn't end up bursting into tears. Which wasn't a new thing for me. I cried a lot when I laid in bed at night, completely and utterly alone. They said it cleansed, but it didn't, really. Perhaps my heart needed a more thorough purification because letting go of the tears did nothing to ease this at all.

"Morning," came his bored response.

I waited a few more minutes with my back still to him and when I was about to bring up tonight's plans; he spoke up. "So, about tonight..." I waited with anxiousness for his next words. "I won't be home until late, so don't wait up. I might have to stay the night. This case is more complex than I thought."

"I understand."

Happy birthday to me!

With that, Logan left.

—----------------------------

"Guinevere, I'm so glad you could make it!" Harley Ando greeted me as soon as I stepped inside Red, the gallery she owned.

I met Harley a while ago when I convinced myself to try out yoga to relieve some of the stress. She was the only one I felt somewhat connected with, and her genial nature made it easier to warm up to her. Suffice to say, I quit after a few classes, when the only thing I got from it was a peaceful five-minute catnap. Harley and I, however, became friendly, so my attendance at her exhibition was a straightforward decision. The fact that it happened to fall on my birthday was a bonus.

We chatted for a few seconds until other obligations pulled her away, and that allowed me to wander around admiring her paintings. All of them told their own stories, but what made me truly stop and think was titled Red Threads of Fate.

There was a myth I heard once that stuck with me throughout the years. According to an ancient Japanese legend, the gods tied an invisible red thread to the pinky finger of two people who were bound to find each other in life. And, irrespective of where each of them was born, lived, or any other circumstances, they would meet each other to spend a life together. The legend said that no matter how much you stretched or tangled the invisible red string, it could never be broken.

I was never a romantic as per se, but the notion of someone out there who would reciprocate your feelings without taking you for granted sounded appealing. But did I believe in such a sentiment? No, years of getting the brunt of it all, the lies, the cheating and the feeling of being constantly underappreciated and looked down on, turned me into a bitter person when it came to love. My life was peachy!

Suddenly, the air around me felt static, it crackled with electricity. Every nerve in my body stood on alert, expecting something to happen. Warmth. The rush of my blood. A heady scent. Those familiar tingles in my veins, making my limbs catch a spark that would turn my whole body into a blazing inferno.

Sparks. Fire. Him.

"Tell me, Pixie, do you believe in fate?"