“I love you.”
“African Woman” by Konstantin Yegorovich Makovsky [Oil Painting]
My heart froze, but not out of fear. It was beating very quickly, and I could have sworn it was having continuous orgasms, if I had to describe the feeling. I wasn’t afraid anymore; I was nervously, intensely relieved.
He loved me.
He loved me.
He. loved. me.
Then he continued, and right after he did, I wished that he hadn’t.
“I love you two, you and Leidy.”
Wait, one second! Did he say “I love you two” earlier or “I love you too”?
“You both mean so much to me and I’m lucky to have you as sisters from another mum.”
I immediately burst into laughter, and for some reason, he began to giggle too.
“You both are my babies.”
Well, he just didn’t know when to stop, did he?
I began to laugh even louder. I laughed so much so that tears began to run down my face.
He was laughing because I was laughing; I was laughing because I thought I had just made a fool of myself, and I was deeply hurt. If he was laughing because I was laughing, he was laughing because I had made a fool of myself, because I was deeply hurt.
I so desperately wanted to sink into the ground and disappear or fly on the angel of death’s wings and never return. He loved me, that was good, but not the way I wanted to be loved.