by Piotr Ryczko
So she ripped off her necklace containing the compass. And without any further comments, gave it back to Anne.
The next instant Viola felt her body swallowed by the crowd of police officers, as she was tugged and battered into submission, until she felt her face pushed against a police car’s window.
Chapter 45
Epilogue
The winter had gone, replaced by a touch of spring. Viola stared past the rain-soaked car window at one of the many suburban Oslo streets filled with endless brownish row-houses. Enough time had passed for the worst of the media carnage to die down. For the last couple of weeks, she was even able to go out of the house without being stalked by what used to be her own kind. The Chief Inspector’s raid on InviNordica yielded him close to nothing, except disgracing the department for such a hasty action.
When the case got splashed all over the news headlines, everyone who was in some way involved with InviNordica, backpedalled on their stories, leaving the police department with table scraps of a case. The last she heard, the Chief Inspector was no longer stationed at Grønlandsleiret, and not surprisingly, there was never anyone available there to comment on his current status or whereabouts.
The women had either returned home or settled into a new life thanks to Pål’s tenacity. Although there was little substantial proof found at the clinic, Magda had trouble explaining her fuzzy book keeping and would see legal consequences of that. After the media attention, her partners at the clinic backed out and decided to close it down and sell off the property.
At first Marianne made a lot of noise, just the way she desired it, but Viola paid her a visit and reminded her that she was still in the possession of the recording which painted Marianne in a quite different light. The blogger quickly backed off with her news statements and blamed her inconsistency on a fictitious bipolar disease.
And herself, she felt lucky. Considering her stunts at InviNordica, and the potential legal repercussions hanging over her, she got off with barely a scratch. The most aggravating part was that she became an unwanted focus of the media for a while. But instead of concentrating on what had occurred at the clinic, she did her best to redirect the frenzy into something more constructive, a much-needed public debate on the current plight of childless women in Norway.
She returned her gaze towards the row of houses. They had never spent much time in his house, simply because Ronny always made arrangements that would accommodate her, sometimes even whimsical wishes.
She had attempted to forge a bond with several men over the course of the last twenty years. Each time it had crash-landed in an incessant battle of unfulfilled egos. She had cursed inside herself at their immaturity, their small-time pettiness, or whatever other reason she had for being dissatisfied with them.
Then she had concluded the last random quarrel with a daft smile, and left them without even the slightest explanation. At that time, she had thought it fortunate she had never looked back, and certainly didn’t regret any of her actions. But now, she thought it unfortunate that she never reflected on her relationships. Never even considered reassigning some of the blame to her own ego.
And then, along came Ronny, a man who made it difficult to play out her own petty dramas. Instead of battling her, he listened, instead of forcing her, he gave in. And not because he didn’t have his own views on matters, but simply because he cared, and rarely needed to be right. At first this emotional constellation was alien to her, it enraged her, then it baffled her, but with time, it melted into gratitude.
This was the fourth time she had come here, to his street, his home. She thought it would be simple, go up to the porch, pass through the cute knee-high gate, ring the doorbell that rarely worked, then just say hi.
Yet, she never made it that far. She didn’t even make it out of her car. And now, as she sat there with her legs twisted in some unknown asana, her fingers twitching at her cell phone, she cursed at herself. What the hell was she thinking? Was she naive enough to think he would have her back, after what she had made him go through?
Damn. Damn. This was the last time she would come down here.
The tires screeched against the concrete as she stamped on the gas. But the impetus of her car ground to a halt. Before her, right in the middle of the street, a man’s figure stood in her way.
Ronny.
Her first impulse was to step on the gas, drive past, pretend she wasn’t here. Maybe he hadn’t seen her and even if he had, it was not too late to flee. But he locked onto her gaze, confronted her with a smirk, then launched himself towards her car. And as he bent towards the window, she struggled to make sense of it all.
“I was just, you know, driving by,” she said.
It was only a matter of seconds before he noticed she was pregnant. A longer pause followed. But instead of questions or discussions, he threw the door open and slid up to her.
“And I was just standing here. You know,” he whispered, then grabbed her into his arms as she felt her spine bristle in panic. He just hugged her into himself. Her body loosened itself and folded into his chest. She squinted her eyes, then closed them as she felt a familiar warmth spread through her.
As it was now, the InviNordica incident still left a gushing wound inside her. But the bitter conclusion had also expunged the poison that had been inside her all her life.
And the last five months?
They had been different enough to have hope. She had felt a little bit lighter, less burdened by everything.
She remembered her shrink. He had told her that infertility and mitochondrial disease was a constant trauma. It was a ceaseless crisis on a physical and emotional level. He had explained to her how it bred negative emotions, and that her life energy would always be channelled towards reliving that fear. That her existence had been a constant anxiety zone from day one, the day she had learned about her condition. That she would find it hard to find joy and hope in her everyday life. Much less having a child. But if she tried hard enough, she would get stronger. And with time, daring, and perseverance, she would even find a way to enjoy the present.
At that time, this shrink’s perspective only aggravated her. And why shouldn’t it? She wasn’t the one with the problem.
But as she thought about it now, she realised he might have had a point. Her worries hadn’t disappeared, but at least they had settled into their usual everyday rhythms.
Was the baby too silent for too long? Was her morning sickness too terrible? And would the baby get enough to eat? Would she eat the wrong thing and hurt the baby? Was she too stressed? Would she be a bad parent?
All of that was still there. But for the first time in a long time, it also felt normal.
The child she was carrying, she knew exactly what it meant, the risks involved and the transience of it all. If she wanted guarantees, this was the worst idea she could have for a lasting happiness. The memory of Markus would always be there as a reminder of that.
No. This wasn’t about any grand expectations of a perfect future. This was more about willing herself to put up a brave fight so she would enjoy this very moment. And the next. And the next. Miniscule steps.
And as she was prepared for the bad but yearned for the good, she expressed silent gratitude for each day they were given.
The three of them.
Vlog, 1st entry 9.7.2016
She felt far from ready for this. After twenty years, she couldn’t imagine how she would ever be ready for this moment.
Her Vlog site “One in Eight” was prepared with the expert hands of a graphic and web designer. A service that cost her a small fortune. But more importantly, she had used all her spare time to prepare her message meticulously. Several weeks’ worth of painful digging into her own psyche and even more rehearsals behind her. The endless training was necessary, as this was the only way she would gather enough courage to go through with this confrontation. So she had learnt to recite her first post walking, sleeping, and even in three languages, if need be.
Yet a
s everything merged into this moment of truth, and she was about to punch the “On Air” button, everything in her just froze.
She eyed her fingers, and realised they were cramped and twitchy. Useless again. And her mind was again drowned by all the reasons why this had been a bad idea in the first place.
What could she possibly have to say that was of real value to people? With the Internet swamped with so much information about infertility and personal struggles, would anyone listen, or even care? And even if she didn’t focus on what other people would say about her, why was she a bag of nerves right now? Wasn’t she an experienced journalist who had been in the firing line for half of her life? By now, these kinds of speeches should come naturally to her.
Maybe she wanted to do some good, but for all the wrong reasons? She would end up just like Marianne, enamoured more by being the centre of attention than actually building a supportive community for those in need.
But all of this was nonsense. This Vlog was about something more important than the deep-seated layers of her neurosis. This wasn’t about her needs or wants. Instead, here was a real opportunity to set things right after Marianne’s mess. It was about what she could do for others.
And as she grabbed an extra deep breath, an electric jolt passed through her as she punched the record button on the webcam. Her body moved itself out of its own accord, and she saw her face reflected on her laptop.
A red lamp shimmered. She was live. And she felt herself step over the edge. Into nothingness.
“For the last twenty years I have been ashamed, terrified, and frustrated. All these years, I’ve run away, lied, and destroyed my life just so I could hide this from everyone. Today, I am changing it. And although I am expecting a child now, my struggle has made me into one in eight. That is how many we are. One woman out of eight will be touched by infertility at some point in her life and when it does, I intend to be here. To let you know that none of you are alone. Childlessness, that’s me, but it could also be your friend, your neighbour, your sister. It could be you.
“I am Viola Voss, and I have a story to share with you.”
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