‘AND YOU DON’T think it’s normal?’ The delicate older woman waited patiently for Rosa’s reply, and Rosa took a deep breath, preparing herself to answer the question honestly.
She had been the one who’d decided to make good on her promise to get her anxieties under control. She might not have a husband to do it for—she swallowed at the pain that quaked through her body—but she had a child. Or she would have a child. And since her anxiety had spiked since she’d returned to Cape Town the week before, she’d finally decided to go to the psychologist.
‘Normal?’ Rosa asked. ‘The fact that I worry incessantly about what’s happening in my body? That I can’t trust it?’
‘Yes,’ Dr Spar replied. ‘You don’t think, after what your mother went through, it’s normal to have your concerns?’
‘Well, I suppose that’s why I’m here. Because it’s normal coming from where I come from.’ She bit her lip. ‘But the worrying extends to my decisions. And I can’t trust them either.’
‘Which bothers you?’
‘It’s affected my life.’
Dr Spar nodded. ‘Have you thought about how not trusting yourself might have come from your mother being unable to trust herself?’
‘Not quite so specifically. But I know my indecisiveness, or struggling to trust my decisions... I know that’s because of my mother.’
‘You told me that you didn’t want to use your mother as an excuse for your actions any more.’
‘That doesn’t mean I magically know how to stop doing that.’
‘Except being here of your own accord—for your child—means that you have, in some way. Can you see that?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘Maybe.’
‘You struggle with it.’
‘With seeing that I’m not my mother?’ Rosa asked.
‘Yes,’ Dr Spar replied. ‘But also with seeing yourself for who you are.’ She paused. ‘You’re not your mother, Rosa. You can see where your fears and anxieties come from. And you’re facing them. Do you think your mother could do that?’
Rosa shook her head silently as she thought it through. The rest of the appointment passed in a blur after that. It had been her second appointment—the first had been spent sharing what Rosa thought she needed help with—but already she knew that it was helping.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think she was cured. She was still anxious. Still doubted herself. And she still couldn’t bring herself to be screened for the breast cancer gene, though she was using her pregnancy as an excuse for that. So she made her subsequent appointments and patted her stomach as she walked out of the building.
We’re going to get through this, pumpkin, she told her baby silently.
She bit her lip and tried to push past the tears that always seemed to be close by recently. Partly because she’d been worrying about what kind of mother she would be. Worrying that she’d be similar to her mother. But having Dr Spar point out how differently she’d reacted to her anxieties compared to her mother had made her feel better.
As she headed home she told herself that it was okay that she didn’t want to be like her mother. That she wasn’t betraying her mother by wanting that. She’d loved her mother. She wouldn’t have put herself through what she had for Violet if she hadn’t.
But that didn’t negate the difficult experience Rosa had had with Violet. No, that experience and that love could co-exist. And there was nothing wrong with Rosa not wanting her child to live in a world where it did.
It was harder to convince herself that the other part of what had brought her to tears recently was okay. The fact that her child would grow up without his or her parents being together. Especially because Rosa knew how much she’d contributed to that fact.
Her decisions had brought her to this point. Long before she’d found that lump too. And now she knew she’d always fear inheriting her mother’s hypochondria. The anxiety, the mistrust of her body, of her decisions, would stay with her.
But she could deal with that. She’d fight for her mental health just as hard as she’d fight for her physical health. Even though that battle would probably extend throughout her life.
She wouldn’t let it control her life, her actions. Not any more. She would continue her therapy and learn how to manage it. Learn how to look after herself properly. And see who she really was.
But before she’d got to that point she had let it control her life, her actions, her decisions, and she couldn’t ignore that she had a part in breaking up her marriage.
She hadn’t spoken with Aaron since that night at his work function. She didn’t think she was strong enough yet. Not for that. She’d left immediately after that conversation with him. She’d gone back to the house, not particularly caring about what people would say about her departure; she’d packed and had been at the airport an hour later.
The whole thing had cost her a fortune, and there had been no fairy godmother to pick up her tab. But then, her life with Aaron felt like a made-up tale to her now anyway. The clock had struck twelve on her—her carriage had turned back into a pumpkin and she’d turned back into a normal woman with no prince at her side.
‘But we don’t need a prince, do we, pumpkin?’ she murmured softly, laying her hand on her stomach. Ignoring the voice that said, Liar.
She did need a prince. Her prince. But the clock had struck twelve.
She choked back the grief.
* * *
It had been two weeks since he’d last seen her. Two weeks without a phone call or message. Of course, he’d gone without either for much longer. But things were different now. Because of the child, he told himself. Because she was pregnant.
Was she okay? Was the baby okay? How was she feeling?
Those questions—and variations of them—had plagued him since she’d left. And he could have got the answers to them with one simple phone call.
That was how he knew he was lying to himself. Things weren’t different between them because she was pregnant. At least, not only because she was pregnant. They were also different because things had changed between them. Things had become more intense.
He missed her. He missed sharing with her. Regretted how rarely that had happened when they’d been happily married.
Happily.
He didn’t think he could use that word any more. Not knowing what he knew now. Not considering the depths their relationship had sunk to before he’d been stupid enough to let her go.
He took leave from work when he realised his usual strategy of throwing himself into his cases was no longer effective. And if he’d managed to pass off his colleagues’ concerns when he’d returned to their function that night two weeks before without Rosa, he wouldn’t be able to now. He never took leave. And he’d had to convince Frank that he was fine.
But he wasn’t.
He spent his days on menial manual tasks. He went to the gym, ran. Fixed things in the house that needed fixing. At some point he found himself at the hardware store purchasing wood, and when he’d got home he’d started building a treehouse. He hadn’t given it much thought, had just done it, and he’d been halfway through when he’d realised he was building a treehouse.
Anything to avoid your problems, a voice in his head told him mockingly. But he didn’t think he was avoiding his problems. No, he was avoiding his mistakes. Because if how miserable he was without Rosa was any indication, he had made a mistake. And he didn’t know how to fix it.
Which was why he was now at his mother’s house.
He had a key, but he didn’t want to use it. He’d dodged whatever his mother had wanted because of Rosa the last time, and he hadn’t heard from her since. But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. For all he knew, he could be walking into another family staying at his mom’s house.
His mind had created such a convincing picture of it that he was mildly surprised when he found his mother alone.
‘So, this is the reason for the weather today,’ his mother said when she saw him. She stared pointedly out at the rain through the windows before meeting his eyes again. ‘You’re visiting me.’
‘Yes.’ He wasn’t in the mood for dramatics, though he understood the sentiment. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘I assumed so, yes. Something to drink?’
When he shook his head she asked for tea from the housekeeper, who’d been hovering in the room since she’d opened the door for Aaron.
When they were alone, Aaron continued, ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘What?’
‘Why didn’t my father want me?’
To his mother’s credit, she didn’t look nearly as surprised as he’d thought she would. Though she did get up and start pacing. When she finally answered him, she had taken her seat again.
‘It wasn’t you. It was me.’ There was pain in her eyes that he had never seen before. ‘Your father didn’t want me.’
‘He walked away from his son.’
‘Because he didn’t want to have a child with me.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Because he was married.’
‘He was...’ Aaron couldn’t quite process the words, though he’d half repeated them. It took time, during which his mother’s tea had been brought and now sat untouched on the table in front of her. ‘You slept with a married man?’
‘I didn’t know he was married when we met.’ Liana looked out of the window as she spoke. ‘It was a one-time thing too. And when I found out I was pregnant it was hard to find him. The only reason I could was because I had money. Which, thankfully, he didn’t know about.’
‘He was a one-night stand?’ he asked slowly. ‘You didn’t know him?’
‘I was young, Aaron,’ she said coolly. ‘It was a mistake.’
‘You mean I was mistake.’
‘I’ve said that in the past, yes.’ She looked at him now and her expression softened. ‘Though I doubt I meant it. I was just...angry. At myself for making such poor decisions. At you for—’ she took a breath ‘—for reminding me that I should have been responsible.’
‘Because I was responsible.’
‘Yes.’ She brushed a non-existent hair from her face. ‘Even though I knew responsibility was your coping mechanism. Responsibility and control.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Because your mother was irresponsible and out of control.’
‘Is that...’ He closed his eyes. Opened them. ‘Is that why you didn’t want to spend time with me when I was younger?’
Her lips pursed. ‘I wouldn’t have made a good mother. You didn’t need me around.’
‘I did,’ he disagreed softly.
‘No, you didn’t. Look what’s happened to your life since I’ve been around.’
‘It didn’t have to be like that. After you got sick—’
‘You tried to salvage our relationship,’ she interrupted. ‘But I saw what that cost you, Aaron.’ Her breath shuddered through her lips. ‘I said that your father was a one-time mistake, but I’ve made so many more. I forced you to become someone you shouldn’t have had to be. I hurt you beyond measure. I’ve made you doubt your worth. I’m... I’m sorry.’
He didn’t know where her candour was coming from. Didn’t know what to do with the emotions it caused inside him. What he did know was that his mother’s apology meant something to him. That it shifted something inside him.
‘You didn’t deserve us as parents,’ she interrupted his thoughts softly. ‘You’re a good child. And you have been better to me than I deserved. And your father...’ She sighed. ‘He’s missed out on getting to know you. But that wasn’t because of you. That was only because of the circumstances you were born into.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. I should have done this for you a long time ago.’
‘Be honest?’
‘Yes. And not punished you for my actions. My mistakes.’ She leaned forward. ‘I should have been responsible for you. Because you were my child, yes, but also because I love you.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I shouldn’t have hurt you the way I have. I should have put you first. I’m sorry.’
‘Mom—’
‘I knew she’d be good for you,’ she interrupted. ‘I didn’t realise she’d be good for us.’
His heart began to sprint. ‘Rosa?’
‘Of course. She told me all this, you know.’ He nodded. ‘And she said you’d come here soon. To prepare myself.’
Though his mother’s honesty began to make sense now, the reason why surprised him. Again, something shifted inside him. Again, he thought about the mistakes he’d made.
‘I see a bit of myself in her.’ His eyes lifted and she met his gaze. ‘Is that why you’re here, and not with her?’
‘How—’
‘I keep track of my family,’ Liana said.
‘You knew she was here when you visited me a few weeks ago.’
She nodded. ‘I promised Violet that I would look out for Rosa too.’
And yet he was beginning to think that Rosa looked out for them more than they ever had for her.
‘She’s not like you.’
‘No,’ Liana agreed. ‘She’s better. And she’s shown you that being spontaneous doesn’t have to be a bad thing.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps she’ll help you to let go a little.’
He didn’t reply immediately, his mind racing. And finally, when he looked at his mother again, there was a knowing glint in her eyes.