Beauty in the Broken

He comes out when he sees us, giving Lina a warm welcome.

“Wow,” she says, looking toward the new transport area.

“I know.” Ellis follows her gaze. “Big changes.”

“The Union must be happy,” she says.

“So are the miners,” Ellis replies. “The other mine managers, not so much.”

“There must be pressure on them now to meet the same standards.”

“You bet. Better working conditions, better security measures.”

Lina turns to me. “Congratulations, Damian. You must be proud.”

“It’s not finished. This is only the first phase. We’re planning on adding visitor’s accommodation and a pool.”

“The excavation of the bedrock was the priority,” Ellis says. “Taking the full tour?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll get you a hardhat and a safety jacket, then.”

Ellis is most in his element when he’s playing tour guide. As he buzzes off, I study my wife’s face while she takes in the transformation. She’s not smiling, but her eyes twinkle with excitement. She looks happy for me, like you can only look happy for someone if you care. This new pride, the times she worries about me, her decision to come clean and to stay, all these smaller acts add up to one enormous truth. I didn’t plan on bringing it up now, but the moment has presented itself, and I don’t believe in wasting moments.

Gripping her chin, I turn her face to me. “Lina, do you love me?”

She goes still. Her face turns white.

The subject is more delicate than I thought. We’ve always been fighting a war, me for her affection and she for freedom. Acknowledging to loving me is admitting she lost. I tread gently. Bruising her ego or rubbing her nose in her losses isn’t the objective.

“There’s no need to hide it from me. I won’t use the knowledge against you.”

Her stance slackens. She averts her eyes.

“Look at me, Lina.” Reluctantly, she obeys. “I’ve suspected for a while.”

She jerks as if I’ve pumped a round of bullets into her. “How?”

“You’re terrible at hiding your feelings.”

“Am I?”

“It was there, just now, in your eyes.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her palm. “You looked happy for me.”

Pulling her hand away, she bites her nail and turns toward the distance. She’s not even pretending to look at something. She’s staring miserably at nothing.

“It’s nothing to feel bad about. You never stood a chance, angel. I came at you with everything I’ve got.”

She glances at me from over her shoulder. “It must be good to know you have so much power.”

“Hey.” I grip her shoulders and turn her back to me. “I’m going to make this good.”

“If I tell you I love you, will you give me my freedom?”

I drag in a breath, playing for time. I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m not going to lie to her. “You know better than to ask me that.”

“I’m not asking you to set me free. I’m only asking for my right to make independent decisions back. Make me a competent human being again, Damian. Please.”

Cupping her face, I brush the wind-blow hair from her cheeks. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?” she exclaims softly. “If I love you, why would I run? Why won’t you trust me?”

Love isn’t always enough. Because she’ll wake up one day and realize she deserves better. I told myself if I have her heart, I’d feel safe, but I don’t. I own her body and heart, and the fear of losing her won’t let me go. I can’t answer her. I can only stand there and look at her while her face twists into a mask of pain as I break her heart.

“Tell me, Lina.”

She’s carried enough secrets to bog her down for a lifetime. It’s time to snip that final cord that anchors her to the little island she’s created in the sea of her confusing emotions. It’s time for us to go into this as one. No more islands. No more she and I. From now on, it’s us.

“Tell me,” I urge with a small shake when she purses her lips.

A battle passes through her eyes. She wrestles with it, fights with her last strength, but we both know it’s a losing battle.

“Tell me.”

The confession gushes from her lips, broken and perfect. “I love you.”

As if the admittance has taken all her energy, she sags in my arms. Her breath catches on a hitch. Warm tears wet my shirt. All I can do while she cries for the last piece of herself she’s lost, is hold her in my arms and tell her over and over I’ll make it good for her. I won’t let her sacrifice her freedom and love for nothing. I’ll give her the love I’ve been carrying in my heart for so long. I’ll give her everything money can buy, anything she wants.

“Anything at all in my power,” I whisper in her ear, cradling her frail body. Anything but freedom. “Your love isn’t one-sided. I feel the same.”