"Come on. Armando treats us well, and we don't even pay rent. Do you know the potatoes I used to make yesterday's gandinga were from the back garden?" Medusa asked with a proud grin. "I even gave—"

Her smile slipped at the look on Antonii's face. Since he returned home that evening, something felt off. She had caught him watching her with sadness more than once. Now they were about to sleep, and he wouldn't drop this topic she absolutely despised.

"But look at you." His tone was grim—defeated. "You are too refined to live in this... and with the baby coming."

Medusa burst into expletives as she ripped off him. Again with those lines. When would he stop? As she paced, she bit her thumb. Five steps covered the length of their bedroom. Everything about their home was small and bare, but she adored it all the same.

"I hate it when you're like this. Should I scar my face? Dress like a hobo? Is that what you want? I'll do it." And she was serious, but Antonii wouldn't know.

"Don't be like that." Groaning, Antonii pushed his curly hair away from his brow and knocked the back of his head against the headboard. "Just think about it for a moment. We'll need a plan. Kids are expensive. And what if there are birth complications? I don't like your giving birth at home idea... and the baby, what if it gets sick? With the farm so far away from the next—"

"Don't worry about it," Medusa said mid-pace. "And our baby will never fall sick." Neither will I.

Sighing, Antonii observed her with tired eyes. He seemed so sage-like, as if he could read her thoughts and knew her more than she knew herself. And he always acted ancient—very ironic when she was the ancient one in the relationship.

"You don't know that," he finally said.

Ha, if only you know. Moments like this were a prod to the heart. Guilt urged Medusa to lay everything bare. All her secrets. Antonii would believe her, right? But fear and doubt sewed her lips shut. Out of the lives she lived, this was the only one she accepted the love of another or willingly carried a child. It was too precious to ruin.

"Listen, May. We can be careless with ourselves, but the case is different when our kid is involved. Living here..." he glanced around and shook his head. "Living here, I don't think it'll do. Let's move back to Almonte."

It stung; his words were needles. How was it that he couldn't see things the way she did? Before agreeing to be his wife, she had shared her dream, and he eagerly promised to make it come true. What was this now?

Stopping her pacing, Medusa stared at a coin-sized stain on the worn carpeted floor. No amount of scrubbing could get it off. "Do not look down on our home." Working on a farm in a peaceful Puerto Rican town was a blessing. Work wasn't back-breaking labour either. Yes, their house was small and their belongings sparse, but they weren't poor.

"I'm not looking down on our home." His gaze turned imploring; he appeared even more exhausted. "I just... I just want more for us. I can get my former job back when we move."

Who is filling your head with nonsense! Medusa bit her lower lip instead of yelling those words. Antonii was not to blame. It was understandable that he would be like this, after all, she had not met him on some remote farm in the outbacks. Gah, this was annoying!

"You don't have to agree with me immediately," he said in that low please-be-understanding voice. And it was working. Medusa was beginning to see a dot of sense in his argument. "Give it a thought. We still have months before the baby is due."

"Fine." Marching back to their bed, Medusa settled next to him all the while grumbling.

"Don't be mad." He grabbed her hand and wove their fingers.

"I'm not mad," Medusa muttered as she rested her temple on his arm.

"But you're pouting." There was laughter in his voice.

"I am not pouting," Medusa shot back with an annoyed huff.

"Your cheeks are all puffy like a chipmunk's. You are totally pouting."

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Medusa batted his hand away when he poked her right cheek.

"Yep, like a baby chipmunk." When he poked her cheek some more, Medusa fought but failed to stop her smile.

"Stop already." She lost; he must have heard the smile in her voice. She hugged his arm and sighed. They had each other's love, a roof over their head, and he was healthy. What was making him so worried now?

"I just... lately, I've been having this unsettling feeling in my gut." He swept a thumb over the back of her hand. "Been feeling like we should move. This place isn't—"

"I choose you, Antonii." Medusa tightened her grip around his arm. "I deeply longed for the life we're currently living. I am content. You don't need to try so hard." She looked up to his face and searched his warm brown eyes, hoping with all the hope in the world that he saw her sincerity.

"You made my dream of a simple life come true. You gave me this. If anyone should feel bad, it should be me. You get to see your family only once a year because of me. Your sister loathes me."

"Elena loathes everybody."

They both chuckled. When Antonii pecked her forehead and beamed down at her, her heart melted into a gooey warm puddle.

"Apart from Elena, who loathes the entire world, who can ever hate you?"

Medusa immediately dropped her gaze. In this world, maybe none hated her to an acidic degree. But there was another world out there, one she was grateful to be severed from.

Snuggling against his warmth, Medusa shut her eyes. "I'll think about us moving. Just promise you won't overdo it to give me a better life."

His chuckle was a soothing rumble against the side of Medusa's face. "Fine, I promise not to overdo it."

Drawing back, Medusa searched his eyes again. There was sincerity there, and his small tired smile was everything. "Good." Smiling, too, she pressed a kiss on his lips. "Let's not fight."

"Don't steal my words."

Perhaps he was correct. Raising their child away from their home town may not be the best for it. Tomorrow, she would tell him to start making plans to move back. They had lived five years in this secluded haven. Wasn't that enough sacrifice on his part? Perhaps now was the time to make a sacrifice of her own.

***

A constant trickle of water.

That damp coldness of the cave.

The sharp sting of burning steel against her neck.

Wriggling snakes for hair held in an iron grip.

Help me! The words were fused to the walls of Medusa's throat, unable to find freedom.

Something was not right. It felt too real—

Medusa opened her eyes with a gasp, her heart a ricocheting ball within the walls of her chest. The dream was too vivid. She had never had one like it in all her lives. That memory she buried and hoped to never recall.

She swallowed against a dry throat; she needed water. As expected whenever she woke up, her body was slow to catch up. It always seemed like a hundred versions of herself had to wake up before her physical body could follow suit.

As she sat up, she looked around. It was dark, but light spilt from the bottom of the bathroom door and faintly illuminated the room. Was Antonii in the bathroom? His spot on the bed was cool. Blinking at the space beside her, she flinched when she heard it. A sharp whine.

Rico, their four-year-old mutt.

The vivid dream Medusa suffered through doubled back and fuelled her rising panic. This familiar but unwanted feeling—the same feeling that paralysed her in that cave and heralded her first taste of death.

Fear.

Fear, thick and heavy, atrophied her body like slow poison. Every movement felt sluggish. Breathing was hard.

Casting the bed cover aside with a shaky hand, Medusa stood. With weak legs and a wildly beating heart, she walked to the bathroom and pushed the door open. It was empty.

Her breathing grew harsh. There was no need to panic. No need at all. This feeling of terror was ridiculous and unfounded. Antonii simply went to the kitchen. She would open her bedroom door, walk to the kitchen and find him stuffing his face with last night's leftovers. But her heart would not believe it, and with every step she took, she sunk deeper into the quicksand of every pessimistic possibility.

Despite the haze of rapidly rising panic, Medusa managed to make it to the kitchen. He was not stuffing his face with last night's leftovers or anywhere within sight.

Be calm. Outside. Antonii must be outside.

Outside doing what at this time of the night? Hysteria yelled.

Urging her stiff legs on, Medusa made it to the living area.

"Finally, sleeping beauty joins us. I almost came to wake you."

That voice. Even though he spoke in English, Medusa still recognised that voice.

The bringer of her death had found her. Fear bubbled over, hardened like wax and rooted her to the spot at the doorway. An inner voice begged her not to look, but her eyes were rebellious. They moved and stared.

They had hog-tied Antonii and made him lie on his side with a cloth tied across his mouth. His face was a mess, and his eyes, swollen from beating, widened when they met hers. He shook his head. His fists were bloody. He must have fought. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

Standing frozen, Medusa held Antonii's panicked gaze. He was speaking with his eyes, but she was unable to understand. The sound of a weak whine drew her attention. It was little Rico. He was lying in a sea of red, pinned to the ground with a silver dagger. She blinked, fighting and failing to comprehend what she was seeing.

"Eyes up."

Dragging her attention from her dying dog, Medusa did as he commanded.

Even with Perseus' eyes hidden behind the rounded-frame dark glasses, Medusa still recognised the face of her killer.

Heroic. Perfect. At home amid horrific violence.

Perseus sat with careless ease, suit jacket open and finger tapping a beat on the arm of the only wingback chair in the living area. To his left and right were two large stoic men Medusa did not recognise.

When Perseus smiled, it was easy and bright. "You have been very difficult to find, Medusa."