OLIVIA

When Elijah returned that evening, Olivia had pulled him to their sofa, insisting he just sit with her while she curled against his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of his body. Smiling privately, she picked up his hand gently and lay it over a specific spot on her stomach and waited. Suddenly, he seemed to go ridged, his eyes snapping open. He stayed that way for a second before his face broke into a smile so wide, his cheeks must be aching. He slid down to kneel on the floor, never removing his hand, and lent in to lay a kiss on her covered stomach.

“Gotcha little one,” He whispered. “I'm so excited to meet you.” He continued to mumble unintelligibly, and Olivia smiled, heart warmed by the sight.

Watching her husband’s joy seemed to shift something in her and slowly, the surrounding colours, which had faded and dulled since Willow’s death, grew vibrant and Olivia laughed, tears running down her cheeks.

Elijah moved back to her side, pulling her gently into his arms and humming.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” He wondered, wiping her face.

Olivia smiled. “I think it’s a girl,” she confided. She took a deep breath. “If it is a girl, I’d like to name her Willow.”

“Of course!” he reassured. “I can think of no better name for a daughter! Have you thought of a name for a boy?”

Olivia shook her head.

Elijah looked at her thoughtfully. “What of William? Will for short? My father’s name was Gwilym. It’s a simpler version. And it still allows you to pay homage to Willow.”

Olivia herself into her husband’s arms as best she could around her bump. “Thank you,” she whispered.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The weeks continued onward in their steady way. Olivia couldn’t see her feet anymore, her ankles swollen, and sleep disrupted. Willow had no remedy for either of things, a note tucked between pages detailing an apology. That she had not been able to find a suitable remedy that was safe this late in the pregnancy. Olivia didn’t hold it against her.

Another major change Olivia noticed as she made her way about the market was just how bright colours could be. She’d barely noticed in her grief how muted her world had become. Now, as she passed glass bottles her eye was drawn to the aqua and violet colours thrown by the liquids contained within. The vivid scarlet of a stallholder's hair, the bright verdant of another’s eyes struck her.

For the first time since Willow’s death, she could look around this space and not see her ghost, fluttering between buildings or peering at her from behind a shoulder in the crowd. Olivia took a long, steadying breath before continuing her way. She clutched her over shoulder bag close as she made her way into the crowded market.

Slowly, she relaxed. She spoke with the red head and the green-eyed worker at the cloth stall, tossing her head back at something they said.

As the day wound toward its end, Olivia moved to collect some fresh vegetables for dinner that night, placing them snuggly in her shoulder bag. She thanked the stall-owner with a quick smile, before turning and beginning the walk home. Being so heavily pregnant, it forced her to walk at a much slower rate than she was used to. It was later in the afternoon then she would like, so she moved as fast as her weary legs could, smiling and waving to those she knew as she walked past.

Turning toward home, she chose to take a slightly longer route to avoid the last, rickety bridge. She had a tough time maintaining balance on it these days, and she shuddered to think what would happen if she were to fall. She readjusted her bag as she passed a collection of shanties, paying them little mind, cataloguing in her mind what she might make for the evening meal when she heard a scuffling from behind her. Without stopping, she glanced over her shoulder and saw three men jogging toward her, eyes wild and beards unkempt.

Heart thudding, she pushed herself into a jog, struggling to puller her bag over her head, hoping if she could drop it, they would let her flee. In her struggle, she felt someone latch onto the bag, pulling her to an abrupt stop, forcing the air from her lungs.

She twisted, staring into the emaciated face before her, smelling the rotten smell of his teeth. Brown eyes were wild, almost animalistic, and she let out a terrified, high-pitched scream.