Plucking up the courage to walk to the door, my hands shook as I crumpled the piece of paper and stuffed it back into my pocket. I was prolonging the inevitable, afraid that she might not want to see me, that she’d slam the door right in my face. But I wouldn’t know if I didn’t try, so I bit the bullet and approached the house.
Just as I took a deep breath to ready myself, the front door of the quaint house opened. I stood glued to the spot, partially hidden by the trunk of the tree and the car parked in front of me. My eyes bulged as I looked at the entrance.
I was about to see Mila for the first time in a year. I was excited, yet nervous at the thought as I stared at the now ajar front door of the house, waiting for my first glimpse of the woman that captured my heart.
But what came out of the house wasn’t Mila, not yet at least. It wasn’t even a person. A large object was pushed through the door, and I watched in shock as I realised it was a stroller.
It probably contained a baby… Mila’s baby?
And then I saw her. My eyes widened and my breath captured within my chest as Mila - beautiful, curvy Mila – stepped outside, her hand in a tight hold upon the stroller’s handle. Watching her bend over the carriage, her face transformed with happiness, and I came to terms with the obvious truth in front of my eyes.
My stepsister had a baby. She’d moved on, had a new life, a new boyfriend. I couldn’t move for a long moment, looking at the image in front of me.
The stroller was a light shade of blue, so I figured the baby was a boy. Mila leaned down again to coo at him. The edge of her dress rippled as a breeze caught hold of it, the very dress that enticed me to kiss her a year ago, and I saw a glimpse of her milky upper thigh and remembered how smooth it had been under my hands. It made my heart ache with pain to look at that familiar fabric. I wished I could have held it between my fingertips once again.
But then I seized upon a new thought flittering across my brain. And my chest swelled with hope. I could still make this work.
She could still be mine.
Mila was alone - a single mother perhaps? I could help her, I thought. I could be that baby’s father figure. We could be a family, if only she’d have me.
The smell of peonies wafted up to my nose, interrupting my thoughts, and my fingers tightened around the bouquet in my hands as I clung onto the idea. The image of her and the baby in my arms gave me the last courage I needed.
A small smile played on my face.
Just as I was about to stroll forward, let Mila see me, my face fell. The smile that had been there moments ago washed away as I saw a well-dressed man in a suit exit through the front door of Mila’s house.
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
With my tight fist strangling the stems of the flowers, I stared motionlessly at the scene unfolding in front of me.
The man closed the front door, smiling, and muttered something to Mila and they both laughed. He looked like he made her happy…
He helped her get the stroller down the stairs that led up to the house and placed it on the stone path leading to the street.
She had moved on. And I wanted to pummel the guy into oblivion.
She’d moved away first, then started a family. Judging by the fact that it had been only a year since I last saw her and she now had a baby, she moved on pretty fast, too.
I probably was a distant memory.
My heart radiated with pain and my eyes wandered down to the ground. I just stared at the asphalt beneath my feet, realising my plan of coming here to surprise her was all for nothing.
I was too late.
She was another man’s woman now. Taken, and with a baby to boot.
Why had I waited so long?
Another look at Mila and the guy had me reeling away. They were laughing, his hand protectively resting on the small of her back as she pushed the pram.
They were going down the street, heading somewhere to do whatever it was families do on sunny afternoons like this. Bonding with their baby, spending quality time together.
I considered my options. But realistically I had none.
There was a persistent voice inside my head, and it kept telling me to go to her, to make her mine, regardless of the man that was by her side. The voice begged for closure, wanted me to talk to her one last time and make sure there was absolutely no way she’d take me back. And I knew the voice wouldn’t shut up until I’d made sure she wouldn’t have me.
But there was also the voice of reason chiming in, louder than usual. I knew I couldn’t prove to be a snake again. I had gotten the tattoo long ago, as per my nickname, at a time when I was too cavalier with the emotions of the women I used to fuck about with. I’d been called a snake one too many times for my liking. Mostly by the women I loved, too - Monique, and then beautiful Mila.