A warm hand settles onto my shoulder. “I miss her too. We’ll never know why, will we?”

I place my hand over hers, exhaling deeply. “No, we won’t. And I feel so badly for neglecting her.”

“It’s all right, Tomas. You’re here now. And one day, you’ll come here with Luciana and I’ll bring Andrej so she can meet them both.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I would like that very much. The flowers are so beautiful, Petra. Thank you.”

She squeezes my shoulder in gratitude. I slowly rise to my feet, stretching my legs. I lean over and kiss the cold marble of my daughter’s grave. I watch as Petra does the same.

Then I tuck her hand once more into the crook of my elbow. “Let’s go home.”

We turn and walk to the gate, turning left to head back down the hill as the sun sets behind us. Petra is now holding my hand at our sides instead of leaving it in the crook of my elbow, looser and lighter in feel. We glance at each other and unexpectedly give each other warm smiles. We pick up the pace down the hill, my head held high, my shoulders back, determined to get home as soon as I can so I can book my flight home to New York City. And it is home for me now, because that’s where Luciana is. I just hope she’ll forgive me and take me back, because if she doesn’t…I can’t even fathom the thought.

*  *  * Lucy

At home

Two weeks later…

With my head on my mother’s shoulder, she smooths back my hair soothingly over and over. I hum contentedly, the first time all day when I don’t feel nauseous. The term “morning sickness” is a total misnomer. I’ve been sick every day since I found out I was pregnant.

We’re sitting on the couch getting ready to watch Downton Abbey. My father sits on the other side of me reading a magazine, his left hand holding my right. He’s not keen on the show, but he’s been very protective of me ever since I told them I was pregnant.

I was truly blown away by their reaction to my news. Not that I really needed to say the words. A parent can guess something’s up when their daughter pukes up her guts into the toilet morning, noon, and night. They even asked me if I really wanted the baby, being the open-minded parents they’ve always been. But I told them with one-hundred-percent knowledge that yes, I want this baby, even though I’m only twenty-five.

I lean over to grab the glass of my ginger ale from the coffee table.

“I’ll get it, sweetheart,” my father says, reaching for my phone.

“No, Daddy, I actually wanted the ginger ale.”

“Oh, um…of course,” he stumbles. He takes the glass and hands it to me.

I take a few small sips and give it back to him, watching him placing it on the table.

I know why my father stammered. Basically, Tomas Novotny is persona non grata in the Gibbons house. It slipped his mind that I’ve stopped checking my phone every ten seconds for any texts or emails from Tomas. I ended the madness a week after he left. I haven’t heard from him since he took off. I don’t know where he is, if he’s still in the Czech Republic or if he’s back in New York.

Just as the familiar Masterpiece theme music fills the room, the intercom buzzes.

“Who the bloody hell can that be?” my father asks, very annoyed.

“I’ll get it,” my mother offers.

“No, love, stay. You watch your program. I’ll go,” my father declares.

He slowly rises from the couch and walks out of the living room. Because we live in an open loft, it’s hard not to eavesdrop.

So when I hear my father start to argue with someone over the intercom, and the person on the other end has a foreign accent, I immediately jump to conclusions, that it could be Tomas waiting downstairs at the front door asking to be let in.

And then I hear the accented voice say, “Mistehr Gibbons, please. I vahnt to talk to Luciana.”

Fuck. It is Tomas.

“Are you mad? There’s no way I’m letting you up, you bastard!” he shouts back.

I jump to my feet as my mother starts to plead with me. “Honey, don’t. Let Daddy handle this.”

But I ignore her and slowly make way to the door. I grab my father’s arm. “It’s okay, Daddy. Please let him up. I just want to get this over with.”

He stares at me for a full minute, and then presses the buzzer.

We wait together, listening for the elevator. Once we hear the footsteps, my father opens the door, revealing Tomas in a black crewneck sweater under a leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers.

He looks my father straight in the eye. “Hallo, sir. Thank you for letting me up.” I can tell he’s been in his home country with his accent noticeably stronger now.

Oh fuck me. The Wall…just as broad and strong as ever, maybe even more now since I haven’t seen it for so long.

“It wasn’t me. You can thank my daughter for that,” he snaps in return.

Finally, Tomas turns his eyes to me, soft and apologetic.

“Luciana, can I speak with you? Please.”

I give him a hard stare, letting him stew. It’s the very least I can do without resorting to physical violence. But at the same time, I want to jump into his arms and kiss him until I can’t breathe. The sight of him sends electrical pulses to every nerve ending in my body, my heart pumping faster from the raw need to have him hold me.

But being me, I put up a wall as a defense mechanism to let him know it won’t be that easy to get back into my good graces.

Be strong, Gibbons. Don’t look at The Wall. Look at his eyes. His brilliant blue eyes.

Oh hell, I’m so fucked.

“Fine,” I snap at him. “But you’ve only got two minutes. Downton Abbey is on and I’m missing it.”

“Yes, of course,” he replies sheepishly.

I lead him back to my room, my father calling out, “Luciana, we’ll be here if you need anything.”

I turn back and give him a simple nod. “It’s okay, Daddy. I’ve got this.”

I step into the doorway and take in the view of Tomas sitting in my desk chair. I shut the door behind me and sink onto my bed.

Sitting up straight? Check.

Hands clenched together in my lap? Check.

Eyes directly on him? Check.

Ready to give him hell? Oh fuck yes!

I take a deep breath. “You have exactly two minutes.”

He clears his throat. “I used to be married.”

My mouth drops, eyes widen like saucers, and my heart drops into my stomach from the shock.

What in the holy fuck…

Is he joking?

I dig my nails into my palms and close my eyes firmly, biting my lower lip to keep myself from crying.

I don’t understand. Any of this.

Finally, I open them again, release my hands, and exhale deeply. “Go on. Please.”

“Her name is Petra. She was my childhood love. We got married when we were eighteen. We were very happy. I was helping my father on our family farm, she was an assistant teacher in the school where my mother works. More than anything, we wanted to have children.”

I watch as he looks up to the ceiling and shuts his eyes. Then he reverts his gaze back to me.

“A year after we were married, Petra got pregnant. We were so excited.”

I’m stunned with surprise. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

Oh God, he has a kid? I can’t…I don’t…this is just too fucking much.

Breathe. Just breathe and let him continue.

He pauses. “It was a girl. Oksana. She was so beautiful. Green eyes like her mother. My blonde hair.”

Tomas runs his hands over his face. His voice turns rough. “A week after she was born, she stopped breathing during the night.”

Oh, no…oh, Tomas…baby…

He shakes his head over and over, holding up his hands helplessly. I can hear his voice choking up. “No explanation, nothing. There was nothing wrong with Petra when she was pregnant. No signs that anything was wrong with Oksana. After she died, the police investigated us for everything including child abuse. It was horrible. It broke us. Petra and me. We couldn’t handle it. So we divorced and I left everything. My parents, my country. I just needed to escape.”