For the precious and oh-so patient flailinggirl who requested this months ago. I’m so sorry for the wait, dear one, but I hope you enjoy this! Thanks so much to miscreantrose for her eyes and heart she poured over this.
The first writing of spring break. Parts 1-3 can be read here.
She cannot breathe.
They’d just crossed an ocean—an ocean, for God’s sake—after surviving
a war, after she’d given birth out of wedlock and cared for a newborn in the
midst of bombings, rations and parental scorn, after she’d wondered and prayed
for two years without knowing if she’d ever see him again, after living day to
day without any assurance he still lived. Walking up a few steps shouldn’t be
But it is. Oh God, it is.
She’s staring at the house, she cannot help it, the absolute
American-esque quality of it striking her squarely in the gut as Isaac tugs at
“It’s alright, Mary,” Charles whispers, and she exhales audibly,
kissing her son’s dark head as her eyes never stray from the front porch. “They’re
going to love you.”
She nods absently, wondering how he can be so certain that
his parents will love and accept his recently acquired British wife and son,
remnants from a war that took him across the Atlantic and into her life.
“And if they don’t?”
The fear escapes her before she can call it back, and she
bites her lower lip as he kisses her forehead.
“They will,” he assures her, touching Isaac’s nose
playfully. “And they know you’re coming, so this isn’t a surprise.” He stares
at her, easily reading that his reassurances are doing very little to placate
her overly-sensitized nerves. “Trust me. Alright?”
She does trust him. But she’s not entirely certain he is
right. His arm tightens about her waist, and she inhales as deeply as she can,
absorbing the breeze on her face as it rushes against her legs and toys with
her hair. She wishes Aunt Tessa were here as she stands so very close to the
unknown, the unknown who are now her family.