Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Sunday July 11, 2010

The girls returned on Monday morning with one of their counselors, who has agreed to stay with us until we find a suitable candidate for their care.

Her name is Charlotte. She’s twenty-two, blonde, five-ten, and looks like she just walked off a runway. She has a degree in child psychology and a soft spot for Dolly.

Amy has returned withdrawn, barely able to leave her room. She reads the same book of fairy tales over and over. The girls no longer fight, but the silence between them is unsettling.

No matter how much I ask, Amy won’t tell me what’s wrong. I asked if Dolly bullied her, and she shook her head. I asked if she was happy to be home, and she shrugged.

Dolly, on the other hand, is blossoming under Charlotte’s care. The pair of them spend hours playing in the park. They were both enthusiastic when I suggested Amy join them, but Amy simply recoiled.

I spoke to Lyle about the changes, but he’s confused. Isn’t this what I wanted? An end to the warfare, and someone to help with the twins so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed? It is, but not like this.

Dr. Forster recommends therapy for Amy and has referred her to a professional who specializes in children. He thinks the silence is a symptom of a much deeper issue. She could be envious of Dolly’s connection with Charlotte or worried about the baby. It could be anything.

Meanwhile, the pregnancy continues to take its toll. My blood pressure is constantly high. Some nights, I wake up in a panic, gasping for air. Other nights, I dream that I’m back with Giorgi. Then memories of the violence return with vivid clarity until Lyle wakes me up, reminding me that I’m safe.

Dr. Forster says nightmares like this are normal due to past trauma and suggests meditation. I plan on including Amy in these sessions to bring her out of her shell.

My ob-gyn has put me on new medications and complete bed rest. I need to avoid strenuous physical activity, prolonged standing, and sex.

If my blood pressure continues to stay high, I’ll have to spend the rest of my pregnancy in the hospital or even have the baby early.

I can’t let that happen. I’m only thirty weeks along. I had the twins at thirty-five weeks and they turned out fine. Physically, anyway. If I can hang on for another month, then I can give my son the best chance.

Lyle is being supportive as always and has cut down his hours to spend more time at home. He and Charlotte have stepped up with managing the twins and household chores.

They’re a dream team, and I’m grateful they’re picking up the slack. I couldn’t manage without their help. But after the twins go to bed, Lyle spends time with Charlotte downstairs in the lounge.

I can’t hear them talking from our bedroom upstairs with the TV blaring, but I can feel they’re bonding over this shared responsibility. It almost reminds me of how Giorgi flaunted his mistress throughout my pregnancy. Men have urges, he would say, and I’m not doing anything for him when I’m looking like a pot-bellied whale.

Any mention that Giorgi impregnated me against my will would earn me a slap across my face or even a kick to my stomach. I was trapped within the mansion. Trapped in my marriage. Trapped in a maternity hell.

Lyle isn’t Giorgi. He would never hurt me, but I can’t have sex without risking the pregnancy. Men have needs, and Charlotte agreed a little too readily to move in with us at short notice.

I’m being paranoid. Ungrateful. Looking for ways to make my life miserable. But those were the things I’d tell myself when I was Giorgi’s prisoner.

Is history repeating itself or is it all in my head?