Chapter - 3
1359 Words
When I opened my eyes, I was in a white room.
“Ella,” my mom’s voice.
“Mom.”
My mom and dad rushed to the bed where I was lying. I burst into tears when I saw them. Vincent’s mom was there too.
“Don’t cry. Mommy’s here. Don’t worry,” my mom whispered and hugged me tight.
“You’ll be fine.,” Vincent’s mom soothed, rubbing my back.
They told me I’d passed out at VincElla Hotel. Vincent had rushed me to Doña Feliza Hospital. They also said I was fine now. I just needed enough rest.
“I miss you, Mom, Dad,” I said, crying. I’d been away from them for four years. I could count on my fingers how many times they’d visited me in England. So I got even more emotional seeing them.
“Stop crying, princess. That’s not good for you,” my dad’s voice said from behind my mom.
I quickly wiped my tears and sniffed. I hugged them. “I miss you, Dad.”
“Miss you too, princess.”
After an hour, they let me leave the hospital. There was nothing wrong with me. Exhaustion was the only reason I’d fainted earlier. I just needed to rest, not overthink, and eat properly. That was the doctor’s instruction before I was discharged.
“Where’s Vin— Vincent?” I asked, almost a whisper. I hadn’t seen him since I woke up. I knew Vincent was the one who brought me to the hospital. Before I blacked out, I saw him catch me before I hit the floor.
“He went back to the hotel,” my dad answered.
I couldn’t help the sadness that hit me. He didn’t even seem worried about me. He just left the hospital and walked away without checking how I was. What else did I expect?
“Go home for now while your husband’s away. Rest there,” my mom said gently.
I almost winced at her words. Husband? Yes, Vincent was my husband. But he didn’t treat me like a wife. He hated me. The man they called my husband hated me.
“That’s right. Stay at your house. Vincent will pick you up later,” Vincent’s mom added.
“What?” was all I could say. I looked back and forth at them. “Why did Vincent take me to his house earlier? What did that mean?” I asked, hesitant.
I noticed them exchange looks.
“Vincent is your husband. It’s normal for him to take you to his house. Your house,” Vincent’s mom answered.
“But we can’t live together,” I said quickly.
“We can talk about this at home,” my mom cut in.
“But Mom, I—”
“Ella, you need to rest. Don’t think about it. Vincent will take good care of you. He is your husband,” Vincent’s mom said and kissed my forehead.
“But… I mean—”
“Don’t think about it,” Vincent’s mom interrupted whatever I was going to say. And she quickly said goodbye.
“Mom, Dad, what’s going on?” I asked when Vincent’s mom was gone.
“Ella, Vincent is your husband. You need to live together like a normal married couple,” my dad said.
“What? Why?!” I asked my dad, shocked. My mom held my arm, probably worried I’d faint again.
“Ella! You and Vincent are married. It’s right that you live together,” my dad answered. “We’ll talk about this later. I have to get back to the hotel,” he added. I could hear the anger he was holding back.
“But Dad, I don’t—”
“Mariella, please! Drop it!” my dad cut me off with authority.
I knew that tone. And when my dad said my full name, I knew that was his final word.
I just shrugged and got into the car, frustrated. Our family driver greeted me. I smiled at him anyway. And I glanced back at my mom and dad. They seemed to be arguing. I knew I was the reason for whatever they were fighting about now. And I felt guilty.
When we entered the big gate of our house, I let my eyes roam around. I missed our house. It had been so long since I’d been home. Nothing had changed in the yard—except for one new gazebo and more flowers around. Even though I hadn’t seen our house in four years, it still felt the same. She’s still welcome.
My mom took me straight to the kitchen. Food was already prepared there.
“Eat first.”
“Mom, did Dad make me come back here because of Vincent?” I asked, ignoring the food in front of me.
“Ella,” she started. She sat across from me and held my hand. “Your dad thinks four years apart from Vincent is enough. We think maybe now, you two can live together.” Her explanation was gentle.
“No, Mommy! Four years isn’t enough to erase the pain Vincent put me through!” I shouted, tears falling. I pulled my hand away from my mom’s.
“Ella, calm down. This isn’t good for your condition,” she said, concern in her voice.
“I was happy in England with grandma. I was almost forgetting the life I had here in San Miguel! But what? You made me come back? For what? To live with Vincent like nothing happened four years ago? I can’t!” I shouted, crying. I wanted to let out all the resentment I felt.
“I can’t live with Vincent as his wife! Not now, or ever. We can’t be together anymore, me and Vincent!” I shouted while I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know why, but I was mad at myself. Because I always cried when it came to Vincent. Because I couldn’t stop the tears when it came to Vincent.
“Ella, calm down, hija,” my mom soothed and came to me and hugged me.
“I don’t want it!” I kept saying while sobbing, hugging my mom.
“Ssshh… stop crying, honey. Mommy’s here. I’ll talk to your dad tonight, okay?” she whispered.
“I can’t live with him,” I kept crying.
I wasn’t ready to live under the same roof as Vincent. Four years wasn’t enough to heal the huge wound Vincent gave me. This wasn’t the right time for us to be together. Or better yet, we shouldn’t be together at all as husband and wife. Because we’d just hurt each other.
After I ate, I told my mom I was going to rest. She didn’t come with me upstairs because she said she was going to call Dad at the hotel. I knew they’d talk about me and Vincent. And I knew I was giving my parents problems.
When I got to my room, my pink room greeted me. Her pink room. Pink ceiling, wall, cabinet, curtain, lampshade—everything was pink. I sat on the big bed that had pink sheets and pillows too.
I missed my room. As much as I missed my old life, I missed my own room.
Before I lay down, I changed clothes. And I remembered what happened at the airport. I’d accidentally spilled coffee on the floor earlier. I looked at the stain on my skinny jeans and quickly took them off, along with the white top that showed the nice curve of my small waist.
I was just in my underwear when I remembered my things were already at Vincent’s house. When I opened the cabinet, my old clothes were still there. But I was scared that because those clothes had been hanging for so long, they’d make me itch. So I went back to bed and lay down.
I was tired. I needed to rest from thinking about what would happen to me if my parents forced me and Vincent to live together as husband and wife.
I didn’t want to think anymore. Whatever happened, I wouldn’t live with Vincent.
- Writer
