And if Nero’s actions sent me spiraling into despair, the weight of public opinion threw me into a pit of apathy. I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything for days, and today was the first time I opened my eyes feeling even minimally capable of living instead of merely continuing to exist.
I went to Athens, needing a proper medical appointment, desperately needing to hear my baby’s heartbeat and know that, even after all this, he was okay. This time, I didn’t even try to seek care in Khione.
If I couldn’t manage it before, now it’s likely the island’s clinics would rather shut their doors than have to treat me. But not depending on Khione’s residents for medical care didn’t spare me their stares, comments, and recriminations.
On the way from my house to Athens, I felt like a prisoner on death row. Everyone was certain I was guilty and watched me as if they truly wished me dead.
It was only when I stepped off the ferry terminal in the capital that I felt like I could actually breathe again. And no matter how much I tried to prepare myself psychologically for returning to the island, it didn’t work.
The recriminations make me want to lock myself inside and never go out again. I know I can’t. Because it’s not just me depending on myself anymore—not now. Still, I decide that for the next few minutes, I’ll allow myself to sink.
I slide my back down the door until I’m sitting on the floor and hug my knees. Just for the next few minutes, I tell myself. Just a few minutes—and no more.
***
“Nina?” my mother calls as she comes up the stairs, and I frown.
I check the clock and see it’s three in the afternoon, confirming my suspicions. It’s far too early for her to be home.
“I’m in my room,” I say, and moments later she’s coming in.
Her eyes sweep over my entire body, stopping at my still-red face and swollen nose. She lets out a long sigh, steps closer, and kisses my cheeks. I hold her tightly and stay there for a while, simply absorbing her calm.
“How was the appointment?” she asks when we pull apart.
“Everything’s fine.” I bring my hand to my belly, drawing in a deep breath that makes my shoulders lift. “We’re at eight weeks.” My smile is sad, and I feel guilty for it.
It feels wrong that even about something as wonderful as my baby being healthy, smiling for real still feels impossible. My mother’s smile is a little wider than mine. Her hand reaches my abdomen, covering mine.
“Two months. We’ll blink and he’ll be out here, crying and nursing.” The image forms in my mind, and it’s the first moment since everything happened that I feel even a gram of peace.
“The doctor warned me about stress and strong emotions,” I comment, twisting my mouth. “How am I supposed to control that?” The question is rhetorical, and my mother knows it, because she answers with another.
“Did you manage to schedule the next appointment?”
“I did. Today’s doctor will follow my care.”
“Good,” she nods.
“Why are you home so early?” I ask. Her shoulders lift and fall.
“I decided to close the shop early today.” Something about that doesn’t sit right. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Why?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to know how your appointment went.”
“That’s not a reason, Mom. You could’ve called me or asked me to come by the shop. I could’ve told you there.” My mother bites her lip and looks away. “What’s going on?” I insist, and she forces the air from her lungs.
“For the past two weeks, not a single customer has walked into the shop,” she says, and my eyes widen.
“What?” Despair hits me all at once, along with a wave of stupidity. Of course I wouldn’t be the only one directly affected by all this, would I? While I hid and cried all day, my mother was out there, watching her dream wither because of something that isn’t even her fault. “Mom…” I whisper, already feeling tears slide down my cheeks.
God, how I hate this. How I hate that I’ve suddenly become nothing more than a well of tears.
“It’s all right, my daughter. None of this is your fault. None of it.” She reassures me, reading it in my eyes. I hug her again. “We’ll get through this, my love, like we always have—together.” She pulls back, cupping my wet cheeks with both hands so my gaze locks onto hers. “Together.” I nod and inhale. “People will forget. Sooner or later, they’ll forget.”
“And if they don’t, Mom?”
