Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(128)

Madama Butterfly, an Italian opera, is playing from the speakers. The dramatic female voice in the second act resonates against the walls of my bedroom.

I remain motionless, living in the chair beside my bed, where Petra has been lying since the day she was transferred from the hospital.

Every single day, I wish she’d wake up so I could see her big blue eyes one last time. But they remain closed, as if she knows that once she wakes up, I’ll have to say goodbye.

A Macallan in one hand and an envelope in the other, my eyes are also shut, tired of this world, tired of myself, tired of life. I try to control the headache, but it’s become the normal state of my mind, and I don’t care anymore.

The door opens, but I don’t even blink.

“Alex, it’s two a.m. You can’t continue like this. You’re becoming an alcoholic,” scolds Roy, stepping into my bedroom. “I moved here to give you moral support—me, not the whiskey.”

“You know what day it is?” I ask, drinking a bit more, my eyes still closed.

He lets out a deep breath. “August twenty-seventh.”

I reach for my forehead, pressing the cold glass against my boiling skin, and try to contain the pain consuming me.

I focus on the sound of the female opera singer—her angelic voice reminds me of Petra. She sings “Un bel dì vedremo” from Act II. I love this opera, but I never thought Petra’s fate would be as tragic.

“And according to the letter from this clinic, our baby’s due date.” I empty my glass and swallow hard. “I just want to die, Roy. Seeing her like this destroys me.”

“She’ll wake up, Alex. The doctors said she’ll wake up,” he repeats, his voice heavier. “I’m sure she’s fighting internally to wake up.”

But I’m in tears, my head shaking as I recall every moment before she left this house. “I’d give my life in a second to save hers. There is not a single day that goes by that I don’t think about that horrible argument.” I sniffle. “Maybe Tess is right—maybe our relationship has always been cursed…”

“Nonsense.” Roy stops the music, walks a few steps over, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, at seven years old, my daughter screamed out loud in the middle of the dinner table what she felt for you… And if you look back, she predicted this relationship from the very beginning. There are things in life we simply cannot explain.” He starts patting me consolingly. “I’m so sorry you can’t be together. Believe me, I am.”

“I know, Roy.” I sigh and look up at her. “In my heart, Petra will always be my wife, no matter what she does with her life once she wakes up.” I take the box from my pocket and contemplate the engagement ring once more. “This ring is hers. It always will be.” I smile as I let my mind picture her wearing it. But I force such thoughts away, close the box, and put it back in my pocket. “I just want her to wake up. She doesn’t deserve this.”

I hear nothing but his breathing. With no further words to add, Roy just glances at his watch. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Try to do the same.” And he takes the glass from my hand. “We said no more whiskey.”

Afterward, he leans forward and places a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Come back soon, Petra,” he whispers. “We love you.”





Petra Van Gatt





Sunlight timidly shines through the windows of the bedroom. It feels like morning. It’s hard to keep my eyes open. My body feels like stone, and I don’t even try to move my legs. Instead, I try to move the fingers of my right hand. But I feel something holding them. I manage to turn my face. Petrified by what I’m seeing, I blink many times, but I’m still lost.

“Hey,” I breathe. He’s sitting on a chair, asleep. His arms are perched on the edge of my bed, his hand on mine. I move my fingers again, feeling his palm. It feels real. Very real. Alex wakes up. I smile at him. He blinks, looks around, and blinks again. “Hey,” I repeat feebly.

He smiles in return. Tears of joy start rolling down his face. The emotion consumes him, and he lets himself cry. “Oh God,” he sobs. “Hey.” He leans forward to kiss my forehead, and I feel his tears wetting my face.

But I’m beyond dazed and confused. “Where am I? I didn’t kill you. Why are you here?” I ask quietly, my voice weak.

He raises his eyebrows. “Um, you’re here at home. Bedford Hills. In our bedroom.”

“But... I just killed myself. Why am I here?”

I see him struggling to find a viable answer. “Maybe you were fighting internally so you could escape your subconscious and come back here, to the real world.”

“My subconscious?” I repeat. “You mean…” My face beams at him. “You mean, I’m alive?”

“Yes. You are alive.” He kisses my hand repeatedly, drying his tears on my skin.

“What day is it?” I ask.

“August twenty-seventh.”

Suddenly I remember everything: the baby, the fight, the truck crashing into his car while I was on the phone with Emma… I close my eyes, my smile vanishes, and my face falls. I bring a hand to my flat belly. I’m so heartbroken that I can barely breathe, but nevertheless I murmur, “It was a girl.” It was.