The following hour was a succession of nurses and doctors who told me everything I’d have to do that day: examinations, check-ins, and neurological tests. My life had truly taken a turn, and I had no idea what to expect when I left the hospital.
The doctor told me repeatedly that it was “a miracle” I had survived, but it was still impossible to predict exactly what the real fallout of the accident would be. I was sure, though, that I would be staying in the hospital for a while and that getting back to normal life wouldn’t be easy at all.
The doctor told me not to skip any meals and to drink lots of water because I had lost weight and needed to hydrate. My body was weak and worn down by everything that had happened.
My mother stayed by my side the whole time. She spent the night next to me, sleeping in a very uncomfortable recliner that someone brought for her.
When I awoke the next day, I was finally cleared to see my first visitors. My mother left the room for a minute, and I took advantage of the time to briefly assess the damage. I touched my left eyebrow because it hurt every time I wrinkled my forehead and felt an enormous bandage, likely covering stitches. If I had had a mirror, I could have surveyed my awful state for certain, but even without one, I was pretty sure that I was going to be left with a scar on my face forever.
I sighed and rested my hands on the cool sheet that covered half my body. I was wearing a hospital gown, and I wondered where my clothes were.
“Selene? May I come in?” Two raps drew my attention to the door, where I saw my father looking exhausted and miserable.
I didn’t answer and continued to stare expressionlessly at him. He moved slowly toward me. I could see from his clenched jaw and stiff shoulders just how on edge he was.
“How are you doing?” He asked cautiously. An absolutely useless question, as far as I was concerned.
Matt shuffled uncomfortably, even bit his lower lip before sitting down next to me on the bed and taking my hand in his. It was an unexpected move. He’d never been touchy-feely like that with me.
How long had he been waiting out there to see me?
I examined him: He looked disheveled, and his shirt was buttoned improperly, like he’d thrown it on in a hurry.
“I’ve felt better,” I answered; my tongue was sluggish and my lips dry.
“You have no idea what I’ve been going through these days. I was terrified I was going to lose you.” He stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, and I looked down to watch the gesture, which seemed sincere and unprompted.
My father really was worried about me; his eyes were full of mixed emotions.
“I’m safe and sound, as you can see,” I whispered in a small voice. His face took on a happier cast.
“Logan and Alyssa are outside. Would you like to say hello?” He gave me a weak smile, and I nodded without really thinking about it.
I did want to talk to them. I considered them the best friends I’d made during my time in New York.
“Good, I’ll go get them.” Matt got to his feet, but before he did, I pulled my hand out of his and rested it on my abdomen.
Sorrow flashed across his face.
He had always been such a reserved man, resistant to expressing any emotion. In that moment, though, he looked as fragile and transparent as a sheet of glass. I appreciated his presence, but I still wasn’t about to fall into his arms and forgive him for everything he’d done four years earlier.
“Matt, the doctor told her to rest a lot today. Tell the kids they won’t be able to stay very long,” my mother cut in, approaching the two of us. She smiled indulgently at me and rested a hand on the shoulder of the man she’d once loved. I wondered, once again, how she had been able to forgive him; how she could even look him in the eyes without rancor.
I admired her. I admired her so much for her strength and her tenacity. She’d always been a woman of a thousand virtues, sensible and wise. She had a kind of inner light that could not be seen but only felt in the soul. She was the kind of person whose goodness couldn’t be quantified but was felt in every tiny glance or smile.
On top of that, she was enchantingly beautiful, intelligent, and good-hearted. Maybe even too good-hearted. It was why my father had betrayed her, cheating on her regularly with other women: because he knew that she would always forgive him.
“Of course, Judith,” he said, passing a hand over his weary face. He gazed at my mother, and it seemed that I could still read a kind of love in his eyes. A love that may have faded but a comfortable love all the same. One that, once upon a time, he had needed.
Why did he marry her when he must have known he couldn’t give up his lovers?
It was something I would never understand.
Love created so many different dynamics between human beings and confounded our thinking in countless ways. One thing was for certain:Cupid shot his arrows wildly, often in the wrong direction, and when attraction collided with emotion, it created confusion.
That was why love was so misleading and illusory.
And I was no exception: I, too, was in love, and I had my own illusions.
