Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(114)

"You could talk to a therapist."

"Can I talk to Lawrence? I don't trust just anyone with my secrets."

I agree to set up a time for Lawrence to meet with her. Though Saskia wants to talk to him, she remains distrustful.

"Don't share my secrets or else," she says to Lawrence. "I won't kill you, but I know people who will."

Lawrence doesn't miss a beat. "Ground rules are good. Rule one is no sharing secrets outside out of our sessions. Rule two is no threatening your therapist."

Saskia's hard expression warms. "Well let's get started. First, I better grab a box of tissues."

Therapy doesn't magically fix Saskia anymore than it fixed me. For years, she struggles to come to terms with how she was raised and the guilt of what she did as Little Maven. I can only support her during the dark times, much as she pushes me to leave the house when I'd rather hide.

Saskia often cries out at night, trapped in a nightmare that she can't escape until I wake her. Shaking in my arms, she only wants to go numb again.

"Nightmares mean you're human," I whisper in the darkness. Resting her on the bed, I kiss away her tears before my lips taste her throat. "You felt nothing for a long time. Now you feel all the pain, but you also feel the good stuff."

Saskia melts in my arms, embracing the pleasure this new life offers. The past is never truly dead, and the suffering lingers around us often. We choose not to embrace it, though. With Saskia, I'm no longer a terrified motherf*cker. With me, she's no longer the ice princess. Together, the past is simply a bad dream we can now escape.





Epilogue


Saskia

No More Mavens

For whatever reason, I never expect Brad to marry me. His family is non-conventional, and I assume we will live together in blissful sin forever. Instead, he pops the question during an early dinner at a nearly empty restaurant. I should have known something was up when I noticed how nervous he seemed despite the lack of a crowd. I will always laugh about his anxiety. As if in any universe, I'd say no.

Since Brad and I lack friends, poor Rafael is forced to play both the father of the bride and best man at the wedding. I have plenty of bridesmaids, though.

Brad insists we should meet more people, but we never do. Years later when we have kids, we still keep to ourselves. Pretending to be normal people is another lie in a life where I've told too many of them.

The day I find out that I'm pregnant, Brad begins planning renovations to the house. He wants more space on our end for the baby. Watching him organize things, I smile at his excitement. My feelings regarding a child aren't so clear cut.

I've learned a lot from Ruth and Nell. I can cook now. I can also knit and crochet. None of these domestication skills taught to me by motherly figures makes me fit to be a mother. I look at pictures of Brad as a child cuddled in his mother's arms. They seem so natural, but I remain wary of touching anyone who isn't Brad. Even Ruth's hugs make me squirm. While she laughs at my reaction and says I'll learn to submit to her, I'm more worried about how I'll do with my child.

After an ultrasound at five months confirms we're having a daughter, I descend into a deep depression. I suspect my doubts might be easier to deal with if our first child is a boy. I would see Brad in the baby rather than myself.

Ruth is overjoyed and goes crazy with pink. Nell begins knitting pink booties within hours of the ultrasound. I can only think about my daughter seeing me the way I saw my mother.

"Kids can sense bad people," I tell Brad one night.

Spread out on the bed with his head between my legs, he's talking to the baby, despite his oddly sexual positioning. I wish to strip him naked and f*ck away my fears. Except I don't think of it as f*cking anymore. We make love. Just another change when I'm already overloaded with them.

"I don't think that's true," Brad says, talking more to my bump than me. "Dogs are good at sensing bad people, and our dogs love you. They loved you even when you thought they were gross licking machines."

I smile slightly, but his words don't help. "They liked Marx too," I remind him.

"Oh, yeah. Well, they're attention sluts, I guess. Anyone who loves them is their best friend. I didn't do a very good job training them to be guard dogs."

When he doesn't take me seriously, I cup his face. "Tell me I won't hurt our baby. Promise me that I can love something that only takes."

"Saskia, you already love our baby. You wouldn't be so worried if you didn't care about her."

"These hands have done ugly things," I say, still cupping his face.

After gently kissing the palms of both of my hands, he stares into my eyes. "They're also as tender as a whisper."

Brad's goodness and knowing his mother and Nell will help keeps me from truly panicking. I don't enjoy my pregnancy, though. The baby's kicking makes me tense. The stronger the kicks, the sooner she'll be born. I don't fear giving birth. I fear every moment afterward.

"I'm sorry," Brad says when we learn I'll need a C-section since our baby is too gigantic to exit vaginally my body.

"I want her to be like you in every way," I whisper. "I don't want to see anything of me in her."

Brad frowns at my words, but he doesn't say anything else. We prepare for the surgery, and I'm so tense that I panic until the anesthesiologist dopes me up with something wonderful. I even smile when they show me the baby. Unfortunately, the drugs wear off.