Shadow of a Butterfly

Prologue

If I turn around now, it's over. Finished. Game over. Blood thunders through my body. The adrenaline is so concentrated that it almost stops my breathing. One step forward continues what will stab me in the back. Turning around is a worse alternative. A hundred times worse. Frozen in place, I feel the burning within me. Cold and hot alternately paralyze my otherwise clear mind. How did I end up in a limbo designed for a fall? Was it last summer or maybe the summer eight years ago? When did it become a dead-end like this? I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I hold onto my heart and fall.

1

Pink as Rosé

The summer gives off its last magical light. A veil of light orange drapes over the cliffs, and the cool evening breeze makes my hairs reluctantly stand on end. The tourists on the West Coast are shifting from the energetic families to the tranquil gray-haired retirees. A couple of small white clouds hover at the mountain's peak. They sit there, conversing, though I can’t hear what they’re saying. I imagine they’re talking about the birds hang gliding overhead, eager to sample the picnic basket beside them.

Boo! I jump and laugh at David's simple way of startling me. Sneaking up from behind and grabbing my shoulders. I love being scared; it makes me feel alive and always brings a nervous giggle. A little pick-me-up in everyday life.

Would you like some more rosé, darling? he asks, holding up an almost empty bottle.

Yes, let’s share the last of it and enjoy the sunset.

Slowly, we sip the wine in silence, exchanging a few loving glances. The waves have quieted, leaving only the gentle lapping against the shore.

Isn’t life wonderful? David says, stretching out his warm hand. Do you think I could hold you for a bit?

I move closer to him, snuggling under his arm. We sit entwined until the sun is no longer visible. Only the glow behind the horizon lights up the sky, tinting it pink. Pink as rosé. We lift our glasses towards the sky and drain the last of the wine before packing up our things to head back to what we had left behind. What we wanted to escape from, if only for a while.

2

Sepia tone

Inside the door, Ellen is jumping up and down.

Mommy! she shrieks, eager to jump into my arms. We hug and share one of those kisses that’s wet, snotty, and absolutely wonderful. My lovely, precious daughter, whom I had longed for so desperately to come into this world.

David's and my attempts to get pregnant had been a tragic saga for us and our closest ones. So many cheered and then offered condolences when things went wrong. Eventually, we couldn't even talk about it—not even with each other. I was lost in my grief bubble, and David was in his fix-it bubble. I wanted us to feel the sorrow together so we could emerge a bit more whole, while David always sought solutions for my sadness, apathy, and hopelessness. His attempts only made me feel more isolated, and I withdrew into myself. In turn, David felt I was rejecting him and bringing negative energy when I didn't latch onto his suggestions.

We can go to Paris, darling! he said one day, as my tears fell into the frying pan over the potato pancakes. Paris? Did he think a baby could be conceived there? How did he think I could let go of our little bundle in Paris?

He was just 20 weeks old and couldn't survive outside the womb. He was so perfectly formed and beautiful despite his immaturity, and the image of him burned into my retinas.

Little Malte. How I had longed for him. After all the attempts to get pregnant, it finally became a reality. It took two years and four miscarriages before he truly made his presence known with a flutter in my belly. A butterfly flutter that made my whole body tingle. There really was a baby in there!

We went to baby stores and bought so many tiny clothes it became ridiculous. My eyes were drawn to strollers and big pregnant bellies, and we picked out names until we fell asleep at night.

The ultrasound at week 19 was eagerly anticipated. Now we would finally see our miracle and get a due date. But everything turned into the worst nightmare. The baby inside was moving, and the heartbeat was strong, but the baby's skull bone was missing, along with the cerebrum.

There I lay on the examination table, staring at a frightened face. It wasn't David's; it was the midwife's. She stammered that she would go out and fetch someone.

After that, everything is a blur, or in sepia tones. Time stood still, but we had to make a decision. The baby wouldn't survive after birth, so we had to either terminate the pregnancy with medication or go through with the delivery at full term.

I hold a pill in my hand, the pill that will end the life of the child I had fought so hard for. If I swallow it, the process of ending his life begins, and there's no turning back. If I don't swallow it, I’ll endure a pregnancy with a lump in my throat, knowing the life inside me that kicks and nudges won't continue outside of me. The choice is to take the pill and then crawl under the covers until labor starts. I swallow and cry out loud. I shake and sit on the floor like a small sparrow in a corner. I'm sorry! I'm sorry, but I love you! I love you, my child!

Malte is buried in the memorial grove a few weeks later, and I am not okay. I am nowhere near myself. I don’t want to do something fun or meet anyone at all. Life is terrible, and I am alone in it. It was a long time of loneliness. A time of rebuilding my innermost self and finding my way back to David. Or was it David who found me?

3

Thyme

The house is filled with the scent of thyme, and Mom has set the table for a late dinner. I go to put Ellen to bed, her little arms clinging tightly around my neck. The story of Big Sister accompanies us to bed along with Gose. Gose is a stuffed dog who’s been through the washing machine so many times he has a musty smell if you bury your nose too deep into his fur. Ellen loves that smell. It’s Gose’s scent. It’s just how it should be.

We lie down in Mom’s bed and read Big Sister. Ellen can’t quite settle and wants to hear it again. I wake up to David touching my feet.

I must have fallen asleep.

As usual, dinner’s ready! Come on! David says with a laugh.

Mom pours a frothy beer as we gather around the round teak table she found at an online auction and is very proud of. The chicken in the baking dish is surrounded by wonderful vegetables from her garden: zucchini, bell peppers, eggplant, onions, and thyme. The chicken is cooked to perfection, with the skin crispy and golden brown. My mom can cook with heart and passion. Food equals Mom.

Did you have a nice time out on the islet? Mom asks.

Yes, the sun was setting beautifully behind the horizon, David replies.

Your turnovers were delicious, Mom, I say, knowing she likes a little fishing for compliments.

That’s great! I filled them with today’s harvest. Tomatoes, basil, and chili. They weren’t too spicy?

No, they were just perfect, Mom.

Mom smiles and looks pleased. She takes a big bite of the chicken leg wrapped in her napkin and says, with chicken juice running down her chin, Ellen and I baked a dessert for you. Guess what it is.

Could it be chocolate balls? David jokes.

No, we ate those with our afternoon coffee, Mom replies.

Is it my favorite? I ask.

Yes, caramelized almond apples with vanilla cream. What do you think?

Oh, Mom, you’re too wonderful, I say with a loving smile.

Well, you deserve the best when you come over, and I get to borrow Ellen sometimes. It makes me so happy to be with her. I know how you…

Mom, we don’t need to talk about it. Ellen is here now, and she was meant to be.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to say…

Mom!

Would you like some coffee with your dessert?

Yes, please. Where did David go?

He must have gone to check on Ellen, Mom says.

She sets out the East Indian coffee service from Rörstrand and brings out the apples that smell sweet with caramel and fresh from the fruit.

I head to the bathroom to tell David dessert is ready, but the door is open and the light is off.

He comes back and sits in the wingback chair by the kitchen.

Were you with Ellen? Is she sleeping restlessly?

No, I was just in the bathroom. Ellen is fine.

Come, it’s time for dessert. The coffee is poured.

David looks at me and stands up. I look back

4

Now life begins

2008

The summer of 2008 was magical. Everything was perfect, like a dream come true, and life was in full bloom. I had just graduated as a landscape architect and started the job I had always dreamed of. Alex & Alex was a company I had applied to many times in my dreams but never gotten. I would wake up in disappointment, scrutinizing and analyzing what I had done wrong. Did I write something inappropriate in my application, something that didn't appeal to Alexander Sjöstedt?

Alexander Sjöstedt, a man with presence, charm, and competence. A sense for the beautiful and the sweet. Rumor had it, this also applied to women. He was married, but that didn’t stop him from flirting wildly with whomever he wanted. His wife was a stunning, slender brunette with a successful career as an architect. She knew Alexander was flirtatious and retaliated in kind at every company event. Like the time she made out with a blonde female intern right in front of him. Alexander blushed and turned away in embarrassment at first. But then he couldn’t help but sneak glances and perhaps wondered what was happening. But he didn’t retaliate. A man like Alexander doesn’t make out with another man.

When I opened the email from Alex & Alex that summer, I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted it so badly. I opened one eye and cautiously read the first few lines.

Thank you for your application to Alex & Alex...

I couldn’t see more, or maybe I didn’t dare to face a rejection with just one eye, so I opened the other. I kept reading and screamed out loud in my solitude:

I got the job! I GOT the job!!! Wow, I was going to my dream place and hopefully start a career. Now, it was time to celebrate!

Julia and I went to Pebbles and Gravel and ordered a bottle of prosecco in an ice bucket. The restaurant was filled with tourists enjoying the delicacies of the West Coast. We did the same, sharing a seafood platter and slurping Swedish oysters as if there were no tomorrow. The prosecco quickly ran out, and we waved for another ice-cold bottle.

This is the life, girl, Julia laughed, raising her arm towards the ceiling.

Julia, now life begins! I replied.

Over at the bar, tourists in their finery crowded, all vying for the bartender’s attention. A Cosmopolitan, a Mojito, a pint of beer left the bar, and I quickly squeezed into the spot where the drinks had been. He looked at me directly and said,

A drink for the lady?

I lost my words and mumbled something that sounded like a gin and tonic with cucumber. He laughed and turned around. His eyes were so intense when he looked at me that I completely lost my train of thought. Everyone else had been waiting for their orders at the bar, but he saw me right away. In an instant, a gin and tonic with cucumber was on the counter. His gaze again, and I was speechless. I needed two gin and tonics. I turned around and went back to Julia.

We’ll have to share. They’re out of cucumber, I blurted out.

A few hours later, we were in the bathroom. His breath in my ear, my skirt hitched up around my waist. Hot and hurried all at once. It wasn’t just his eyes that were intense.

That’s where it began, when everything started.

5

a house, a Volvo, and a dog

The coffee mug stood empty on the desk again. Morning had slipped into afternoon, and lunch was once more skipped. The work was too exciting, and I wanted to perform at my best, having been entrusted with designing new plans for a small town square. My focus on technology and architecture was a perfect fit for Alex & Alex when they got the Lift the Small Town project. I wanted to prove that I was the right choice for them.

Want a refill? I jumped. Marek peeked through the doorframe and laughed.

Did I scare you?

YES, and yes please, I’d love some more coffee.

How’s it going? Have you settled in here? Do you like it? Oh, here come all the questions at once...

Marek laughed again and went to refill our coffee mugs.

Would you like some milk, maybe?

He looked at me, curious, and I shook my head.

Nope, black works better for waking up sleeping brain cells. We sat for a bit, sipping our coffee like colleagues sometimes do, and the conversation shifted from work to more personal topics. Do you have a family? he suddenly asked.

No, I haven’t gotten there yet. Work first, I thought. One thing at a time.

And you? Are you the guy with a house, a Volvo, and a dog? Why did I say that? Like I looked down on it. As if it were something bad. I felt ashamed of how I had expressed myself but didn’t apologize.

Yep, that’s me, he replied, leaning back in his