My spouse struck me. The maternity ward was not visited by him.
With my two newborns by my side and a sorrowful heart, I went home by myself that day.
With my daughter on one side and my son on the other, I whispered, “A taxi to Linden Street, number eight.”
With his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, the driver silently nodded. Two ribbons, one blue, one pink, two small swaddled creatures.
Four little eyes met mine… A genuine trust that nearly broke me.
As the car started, he ventured to inquire, “Is their father waiting for you?”
I didn’t respond. How could I respond? That in three days, he hadn’t answered the phone? That when I inquired if he had arrived, the nurses exchanged uncomfortable glances?
That my neighbor across the hall was the only source of flowers in my room?
My daughter, which I named Mila, moaned gently and pouted a little. Adam, her brother, started crying in an instant. My twins
— My jewels, hush. Mom is here.
The clutter and tobacco odor greeted me at home. He had not returned. I placed Mila and Adam in the small beds that were ready for them when they were born. I sobbed as I sat down beside them and vowed to stay with them forever. However, as I was drying my tears, I heard a dull sound in the corridor. When I looked up, I saw the unimaginable.
“I have two tiny hearts in my arms.”
I thought I would melt with love as they placed my twins, a boy and a girl, on my chest. Beneath this happiness, however, lurked a cold emptiness: their father was absent. Three days of stillness, three days in the hospital. No visit, no flowers, nothing.
Other mothers were surrounded by family members on the day of discharge. I had my babies wrapped up in their blankets while I waited for a cab. Two ribbons, blue and pink, and two small, trusting faces.
— “Is their dad anticipating your arrival?” questioned the driver.
I looked around. How should I respond? That I had been left behind by him?
Mila, my kid, started crying. Adam, her brother, immediately copied her. I muttered:
— My jewels, hush. Mom is here.
The clutter and tobacco odor greeted me at home. He had not returned. I placed Mila and Adam in the small beds that were ready for them when they were born. I sobbed as I sat down beside them and vowed to stay with them forever. However, as I was drying my tears, I heard a dull sound in the corridor. When I looked up, I saw the unimaginable.
There was a small swing to the front door, as though someone had just pushed it and fled. With my heart racing, I dared not move and kept my gaze fixed on the shadow that ran the length of the wall. But the hallway was deserted when I plucked up the courage to go look. The only response I received was a thick, oppressive stillness.
Nights of insomnia started right away: nursing, soothing, changing, and starting over. I stood, exhausted, but only because of them. He, my husband, did not show up. “I’m busy,” he said icily when I finally got through to him.
Luckily, Aunt Rosa, my neighbor, helped me. She brought me hot food and occasionally took a break to monitor the babies. She advised me, “You are strong, but remember to eat or you will collapse.”
He eventually returned a month later. He told me, bitter and inebriated:
Are you doing okay, Mother Courage?
“They don’t even look like me,” he said, denying his own offspring.
I told him to go that night. He slammed the door and left.
I didn’t wait for him to come back after that. I chose to fight by myself. For Mila. For Adam.
I took the twins to the doctor one morning in a taxi. Coincidentally, I was driven back from the maternity unit by the same driver.
“How are our little passengers doing?” He smiled as he spoke.
Julien was his name. He gradually developed into a subtle but unceasing presence, leaving a bag of groceries at my door, helping to push the stroller, and saying something nice when he noticed my dark circles.
One day, he told me, “It’s not pity.” “Just human beings.”
And I agreed.
As the weeks went by, Julien became closer to us. The kids chuckled in his arms and looked up at him as though they had known him forever. He became a father figure to them. First a buddy, then a support system, and finally, love for me.
I shut the door on their father when he tried to return. I wasn’t by myself this time.
The years went by. Adam and Mila matured, walked for the first time, and said their first words. Julien was always there, reading stories to children, carrying Mila on his shoulders, and tossing the ball with Adam.
He just mentioned to me one day:
Above all, I adore you and the kids.
And I realized that my heart was already his.
Conclusion
Two years later, my twins were running about me when I got home, and Julien had brought a large bouquet of my favorite flowers—daisies.
I wasn’t an abandoned woman this time. My kids had a true home at last, and I was a respected and loved mother.
I had the fortitude to start over because I had two tiny hearts in my arms.
