London, Christmas of 1918
The first Christmas without the smell of gunpowder, yet the echoes of pleas still linger, haunting the alleys and streets. I stand by the window, peering through the curtains, gazing at the world below, feeling a chill deep within. I glance to my side; Augustin sits in his wheelchair, his expression distant as he stares into the distant horizon. Husband and wife, each on their side of the window frame, our viewpoints different, but our hearts ache in the same place. We've never been so unified before. Perhaps the absence of one person has created a bond stronger than any of us could imagine, connecting disparate souls to the tolling bell of remembrance.
"Do you miss Andermis?" I speak softly, my voice trembling, my gaze locked on a distant point. Augustin's gaze remains steady, fixed on the row of adjacent houses, yet I know he's conversing with someone. I could have responded with my own determination, showing that I'm no longer the fragile maiden of the past. But I stop, for resistance no longer holds value in this context. I've grown tired of the struggle, the futile arguments. My emotions have been numbed by tears, sweat, and the bloodshed of that senseless war. Yet, I try to push forward, compelled by a promise to someone of immense importance. I can't afford to let him down.
I check the time with the pocket watch, then clasp it back around my neck. I brush off Augustin's sentimental words as I weakly say, "It's time to eat; let me wheel you to the dining room."
"Still avoiding my question, Fiona."
Augustin's persistence is perhaps the only consistent trait he retains over the years. The war has taken his legs, robbed him of the brightest prospects for a grown man, replaced pride with resentment and a lingering sense of bitterness. I know he won't relinquish that biting determination unless I offer a satisfactory answer. So, I have no real choice.
"He's my sunshine, my water…" My voice wavers and turns somber. "Of course, I miss him."
"I know…" Augustin chuckles gently. Beneath that smile, I sense a touch of regret. "You loved him from the moment you met."
"Please, Augustin!" I attempt to cut short this futile conversation before it escalates into an unnecessary quarrel.
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"Don't cut me off, Fiona. You know that, don't you?" Augustin's tone turns serious.
"Are we going to argue about this again?" I retort, my patience waning. "I don't love anyone else, if that's what you want to know!"
"What about me, Fiona?" Augustin's expression suddenly becomes intense. His gaze is as tranquil as an autumn lake, yet as deep and vast as an uncertain sky. I haven't seen that look in a long time, a memory lost even to me. His question catches me off guard, and I feel a slight unease, despite not knowing what he'll say next.
Augustin raises his head, locking eyes with me, and his hand lifts, showcasing the wedding ring on his finger. After seven years, that ring still shines as brilliantly as it did on our wedding day. Time has flown by so swiftly.
"Do you ever love me?"
"Augustin…" I shake my head, unwilling to answer. I don't know anymore! With Enzo or Andermis, my emotions are clear and vivid. But with this man, I can't decipher.
"Answer me, Fiona. I want to know. In case you ask me in return, I want you to know that I've always loved you, even when I despised you so much."
I stand as if on a tightrope, fearful to move lest I fall to the ground. Augustin, positioned as a spectator in the grandstands, ready to judge the performer's every move. He senses my anxiety, totally controls the situation, without lifting a finger. It all hinges on a question. A question I can't answer.
"You're the kind who can't love, Augustin. I'm not justifying myself, but every time I tried to love you, your indifference and lack of courage made me recoil," I admit gently. I have genuine affection for him, and I only want to give us a chance to live together. But life isn't that simple. "Who wants to be trapped in an unhappy marriage? The difference is whether they're willing to change."
"So, have we changed, Fiona?" Augustin's voice turns bitter.
"I doubt it," I sigh heavily, then release it. "If we had, we wouldn't be in this situation."
A heavy silence follows, choking the air, a throbbing beat like the ticking of a clock, striking one by one. The room is filled with the late, lamentable feelings, but there's nothing left to salvage. The water has already flowed downstream; only the heavens know where it has reached.
"Let's go, I'm hungry."
Augustin's words carry a heavy heart. Perhaps, from beginning to end, Augustin truly loves what he calls "love" for me, but he channels it as a double-edged sword, thrusting it back at our marriage. If there were another lifetime, I wish I never have to encounter anyone from the trio again. It would be better for all of us. I take a deep breath, then push the wheelchair, leaving the room.