Christmas Ever After

by Niomie Roland

  Only he did, and in the most permanent way possible — he died. But not before he became an alcoholic who had cheated and stolen from their joint account until both their finances were in shambles.

  The last straw was the appendectomy incident and she had spent many days crying herself to sleep for being so foolish as to believe in her husband's declaration of love and promises. She'd spent so many days after his death, cursing the stranger she had married, a resentment greater than any kind of love she believed grew in her heart.

  She couldn’t help going back to it now, especially now that it was obvious, she was about to be homeless with a child in tow. She blamed him for the situation she was in, but most of all, she blamed her soft heart, that naive, little innocent heart that had been willing to trust in the name of love — since she had never had that kind of attachment before.

  She shifted closer to her daughter, cuddling her, her head dropping to inhale the ever present aroma of sugar.

  She did not know what to do, and short of crying her eyes out, she really did not have any option but to roll with things. Come tomorrow she would pack everything that belonged to her and search for someone looking for a roommate. She had five hundred dollars in savings and hoped to God it would be enough for a security deposit on a room.

  She spent the night turning and tossing, worried about what tomorrow would bring.

  

  "What are we getting, Mira?" Trinity asked her indecisive daughter.

  "Chicken," she responded.

  "Two chicken sandwiches to go, please," she directed to the patient cashier who allowed the little girl time to decide despite the sizeable queue.

  "Mommy, Pepsi!" Miranda exclaimed out of the blue and Trinity rolled her eyes at the sudden burst of excitement.

  Trinity glared at the sugary drink. Usually, she did not allow Miranda to drink it unless it was a gulp from her own cup, but today was one good day for an exception — they were celebrating.

  After spending a few nights in a motel and the past two sleeping in her car, she had finally found a second job and soon they would be able to afford their own apartment. She was celebrating how good Miranda had been with everything, treating it all like a big adventure and keeping in good cheer all while managing to be obedient and helpful.

  Her daughter was normally well behaved, but their unexpected eviction was deplorable and took a toll on Trinity, so she was thankful her daughter took it in stride.

  One drink won’t hurt. She nodded at the cashier. “Two drinks please,” she said. After the cups were handed to her, she headed for the drink dispenser.

  When their order was called, she snagged up the bag and exited the fast food joint, heading straight for the parking lot. Their car was parked at the farthest end, a bit away from the closest car for a good reason — it had been their home for the past two days. Stuffed to the brim with their belongings, only the front seat area had room for sleeping.

  With what came next, her only excuse was that she was distracted — too distracted to notice that the step behind them was too intent and getting closer by the minute. She looked up from her daughter, only to see two men suddenly in front of her.

  Her hand clenched around her daughter's as she tried to scoot back, but a hand pushed her forward. She shouted and cowered away. The two men encircled her closely.

  She tried to edge away, but the man at her side only stepped nearer with a sick smile that turned her stomach. It promised a bad encounter.

  "Going somewhere, pretty?" the one directly in front asked, his tone smug and taunting.

  "Why don't you stay and play with us," another voice chipped in.

  "We'll be good to you if you play nice."

  "And if you're really nice, we’ll treat the little girl right too," the last one added with a leer that showed missing teeth and rotting stomps. Even in the semi-darkness of the evening, their intent was clear.

  The once crowded parking lot was suddenly too empty, and she regretted parking far from the crowd. The shadowed area of the parking lot that had appeared private, now looked downright sinister.

  "We'll just go," she said, and tried clutching onto her daughter who stood frozen and whose face looked ashen. Trinity shifted to the side, but they moved her way again, moving in tandem as if by some silent communication.

  “No, we rather you stayed," the ringleader replied with that smile of his.

  "Yeah and play with us," a voice behind her called out.

  "Please just let us go, I have a few dollars in my wallet, you can have that…" she pleaded as her voice trembled.

  "Aww, don't be like that, babe. We want it all," the ringleader said.

  "Yeah, everything."

  “Please don’t hurt my mommy,” she heard Miranda say tearfully and her heart tore but before she could respond she saw movement.

  The man in front of her lunged toward her, and she screamed in fear, clutching her daughter. The man on the right snatched the small hand out of hers and quickly took hold of her, locking her in a fierce grip. The terror that made her try to scurry away boiled off in a sudden flood of rage as she kicked at her assailant, screaming at the top of her lungs.

  Her leg connected with his body and she got a slap in return, but it did not scare her into submission. If anything, it only sent her into a wilder frenzy, wrenching her hand away from her captor. She turned and punched him in the face, her knuckles raw with pain.

  "You bitch!"

  She barely had time to brace herself before the man’s fist rammed into her face.

  Falling back against the concrete ground, she flinched as she anticipated the men taking her or kicking her.

  She curled into herself, more tormented by her daughter’s cries than the pain wrecking her body. She could not afford to black out or surrender to the pain. She could not allow these men to rape and possibly kill her in the presence of her daughter.

  She continued to struggle, scratching at the hand that was plucking at her blouse, but the fist struck into her face again and she lost the battle with consciousness.

  MICHAEL

  M ichael heard the scream and whipped his head to the side, trying to find the source of the sound. Initially, he only saw a little girl who appeared to be trying to get on a man’s back.

  But then he caught sight of the body on the ground and the man crouched beside it tugging on the woman’s...blouse?

  He screeched to a stop and was out of the car before he could even pull the keys out. He turned around and grabbed the baseball bat that was in his backseat of the car and advanced on the group.

  The girl remained to the side, screaming her head off and calling for her mom. Her screams, combined with the fact that the men were so intent on what they were doing, made them not notice his approach. He swung the bat hard at the man who was trying to rip the woman’s blouse off.

  It connected with a sickening thunk of hardened wood on flesh and bone, and the other three men jolted backwards, momentary releasing their victim.

  They turned straight for him when they realized he was there, and tried to gang rush him since there were more of them. He swung the bat and landed a few strikes on one guy, only narrowly dodging the attack by the second guy. He turned on the guy and started to swing the bat in his direction.

  After a few blows, the men finally learned their lesson. They limped away into the dark, bloodied and cursing. He followed them for a small part of the distance to ensure they were actually leaving and not just waiting for him to drop his guard.

  Satisfied at their continued retreat, he returned to find the little girl clutching her mother, crying — at least he assumed that was her mother, even if she looked a bit too young to have given birth to a child.

  She looked worse for wear, her cheek already swelling where a vicious blow had landed; when she woke up, she would be in serious pain, since he assumed every blow the miscreants delivered had landed on her body.

  Still, she looked impossibly young with hair in
tangled disarray. In repose she looked beautiful — if a little bloody and bruised. He clenched his fist at the sudden rage that roiled through his body as he realized how close the assailants were in undressing her. They had gotten off too light. For every single mark on her body, they deserved a million more.

  He unclenched his fist and tried to read her pulse; it was faint but steady. He needed to call an ambulance.

  Remembering his cellphone was in the car, he ran briskly back to the car and snatched it off the dashboard. Returning to their sides, he called both the ambulance and the cops, then turned his attention to the little girl.

  "What's your name?" he finally asked the child. She was whimpering beside the unconscious woman

  "My mommy says that I should not talk to strangers," came the small but fierce reply. She hugged herself and turned away from him in a move that killed him inside.

  "She’s right, but I want to help your mommy," he replied, making sure to keep his voice soft.

  "You’ll wake mommy up?" she asked.

  He blinked at the sudden glare of the streetlamp flickering to life. "I’ll try."

  "Are you sure?" She looked at him skeptically.

  "Yes, sweetheart, I’m sure," he promised. He prayed the woman wasn’t already dead.

  She looked at him for the longest time, as if coming to some internal decision. She uncoiled and stretched her hand towards in an entirely formal gesture that seemed incongruous given the setting.

  "My name is Miranda, and this is my mommy," she said while pointing to the woman lying on the ground and soon large tears were rolling down her face.

  "Okay, stop crying. I'll call the people who will come take care of your mommy," he promised as he shook her outstretched hand.

  "Okay.” She looked up at him with wide, scared eyes, and eyelashes spiked by tears, regarding him with wary hope.

  “Is this your mom’s car?” He asked while pointing to the black Toyota corolla that was parked a few feet from them. The little girl nodded shyly. He took out his phone again and called his assistant all the while staring at the mother and child.

  Something stirred in him, and he had a sudden urge to hold her close, dry her tears and protect her forever. He wanted to make her laugh, make her happy. He settled for squeezing her hand in a reassuring manner, knowing she would not be so receptive to a stranger holding her. In the distance, he heard the wailing of sirens signaling that help was on the way.

  For the first time since he drove to a stop, he took a full breath, relaxing his shoulders and easing away the tension he didn’t know he was feeling up until that moment.

  TRINITY

  T he insistent beeping at the edge of her consciousness annoyed her like a worsening itch she couldn’t quite reach with her hands to relieve.

  She tried to curl away from the sound but found she was too tired to move her body.

  I must be very exhausted. Tiredness was the only excuse for her to be lolling around in bed. She was even too tired to stop the damn beeping that was already grating on her nerves.

  The intermittent sound did not come from her alarm and she didn't feel any panic associated with noise. Still, if only she could push it away from the bed she was sleeping in.

  Bed? Bed?

  Trinity remembered the events of the past few days in a rush. Her eyelashes fluttered as the mental image played out.

  Getting kicked out..... living in the car.... MacDonald's..... the men..... Miranda!

  Her mental desperation was a bare whisper as she struggled to wake up, already terrified of what she would see. She refused to keep sleeping, not when her daughter.....

  She opened her eyes to the white room, and with a small gasp, she glanced around, catching sight of the machines beeping away. She turned to the other side sharply, hoping to see her daughter, but the little girl was nowhere to be seen.

  “Miranda. Miranda!” she called out, flinching in pain.

  Her jaw felt heavy and she almost regretted turning her head so quickly, but the agitation in her thoughts continued to grow by the second when she did not hear the response of her daughter’s voice.

  “Hey, you're awake,” came a deep baritone from the foot of the bed, causing her to turn her head again, causing a small wince.

  Her confusion and question must have been apparent, but the stranger took a long minute to look her over. Still, that was not the shocking part — who in the world would stare at a woman in a hospital bed with that much intensity?

  No. The real question is how bad of a mother am I to take time to ogle a man at my feet when I actually need to be looking for my daughter—

  He was handsome with tan skin stretched over elegant cheekbones that sat below the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Even in the low warm lighting, she saw they were silvery gray, and his dark hair was in serious disarray. She had the sudden urge to brush it away from his forehead and stare at that face forever.

  Forever?! The word jolted her rational mind to action, and she looked away from him.

  In a flood of guilt, she called out for her missing daughter. "Miranda!" In her mind it was a scream, but it only came out just above a whisper. Still, her desperation and panic were hard to miss.

  "Please, calm down."

  She turned to glare at the stranger, damning the pain.

  How dare he tell her to calm down — where was her daughter?

  “She's sleeping beside you on the couch,” he answered.

  She turned in her bed and caught sight of those familiar curls, her whole body shaking as relief washed over her.

  She glimpsed back to the stranger. "Was she…” the words stuck in her throat. "Was she hurt?"

  "No."

  "Thank God," she breathed.

  Trinity couldn't bring herself to ask the other question on her mind. She ached from top to bottom — it was hard to know for real — but she couldn't be sure if they sexually assaulted her.

  "Nothing happened," he said as if reading her mind.

  Her eyes met his for a moment and she realized what he was talking about. "I stopped them before anything could happen and I stayed until the cops and ambulance brought you here."

  Thank God. If it was even possible, more relief washed over her, and she sunk further into the bed, her whole body weary from the weight she had been carrying.

  "Your daughter is quite the smart girl. She told me she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers.” He had a wry smile on his face that caused fluttering in her stomach. “But she decided I was okay since I was going to make you better."

  "Yes." Her eyes strayed to the serene child, tears prickling the back of her eyelids.

  "You must be very proud of her," he concluded with a soft tone.

  "I am.” And she meant it with her whole heart. She turned back to the stranger. Words couldn’t express what she was feeling. “Thank you for… everything. I don't know what would have happened if they actually — thank you."

  "That's alright,” the man murmured, and she was glad he didn't try to brush her thanks aside.

  For a reason she couldn't quite touch on, it mattered to her — too much.

  “Mommy?" The sleep heavy voice was her only warning before she felt the small body collide with hers.

  “Careful, Miranda!” The warning was a little too late, though. The two of them embraced, sniffling between their smiles.

  

  Trinity stared at the papers in her hand and her stomach dropped. One thing was clear — she couldn't afford yet another hospital bill. She closed her eyes as a sinking feeling jolted through her.

  The hospital stay added to her mounting debt. She knew she should just abandon the idea of getting an apartment anytime soon, because despite the second job, she may never be able to crawl out from this financial mess.

  Her job!

  She was supposed to be at work today!

  She needed to call in before she found herself jobless.

  “May I borrow your phone?" she asked Michael. T
hey had made the introductions earlier in the day after she had broken up her hug with Miranda.

  He had insisted on staying with her in the hospital since yesterday, and since he had rescued her and kept her daughter safe, she couldn’t say no, even though she didn’t understand what motivated him to remain with them — no obligation could be that strong.

  But she wasn’t complaining — far from it.

  Catching his eyes a few times across her bed and watching his interaction with Miranda when they both thought she was asleep made her feel content. Although she wasn’t at ease with the situation, she was glad to have someone who seemed like they genuinely cared.

  The flutter in her stomach had moved onto full on grumblings, but she kept pushing it aside as a reaction to painkillers left her spacy and groggy.

  She grabbed the phone from him, her palms tingling at the light brush of his hands against hers — there was no mistaking her reaction to his touch, but she hid it well beneath a scowl, focusing on dialing her new workplace.

  When she finished explaining her predicament, the head nurse of the nursing home told her to take a few days off. She returned the phone to Michael and he gave her a sympathetic smile. She was thankful that her workplace had been so understanding about the situation, but she couldn’t afford to take time off of work. Her situation was already bad enough.

  Trinity turned back to the pile of paperwork on her lap and groaned. She had to somehow come up with a plan to pay these bills since she didn’t have a single cent to her name.

  The thought of returning to the street was not something she had allowed herself to think about since she woke up, but now it was a reality she needed to tackle.

  It hit her all at once — the encounter with those men. Every time she closed her eyes it played like a sickening video. Her helplessness, weakness and inability to protect herself and Miranda. She was a mom for God’s sake, and she needed to provide her daughter’s basic needs but failed to do so.