Desideratum

Chapter 6

On Monday, Luka received a phone-call. It took him three days to gather his courage and seek out the address he had been given, but there he was, standing on her doorstep.

There were no words to describe the turmoil inside of him when he heard that yes, she was there, that she had been so close to him for God knew how long. It was a mixture that had surprised him as much as the news itself, that had nearly torn him apart for the nights to come.

But he had survived this, survived everything just to see her again. From what he had heard, she was not married, nor was she living with another man. His connection had asked whether he wanted to dig deeper in her life, but that was all Luka had needed to know—that she was alone, that the possibility for him to apologize was still standing.

He steeled himself with a deep breath before he knocked, head down, forearms resting on either side of the doorway. He didn't know what to expect, so he resumed clearing his mind and hoping for the best.

Heels clicked on the floor on the other side of the door, and his heart started beating faster.

Then the door opened, and it stopped beating altogether. His breath caught in his throat, and every cell in his body stopped functioning.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was dressed simply, in a pair of black pants and a loose fitted white top, with fluffy slippers on her feet. Her skin was flawless, with only a hint of sun-kissed color, and she was wearing make-up—enough to bring out the color of her eyes and to add a red tint to her full lips. Her hair was as midnight dark as he remembered—full, shiny, and curling at its ends.

She had frozen at the sight of him. Her eyes were wide—wide with shock, with confusion, and to his surprise, fright— and if she was breathing, he couldn't tell.

"Marinette…"

Her name was a mere whisper between them.

In a daze almost, his hand reached out towards her. He needed to touch her, to feel her, to make sure she was real— not just another torturous dream. But she flinched and stepped back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else beat him to that.

"Mom!" a young voice, the voice of a child rang down the hallway.

Luka's eyes widened. It was his turn to step back as though he had been slapped.

Marinette simply closed her eyes. "Sweetheart, not right now," she answered in a breathy, raspy voice. Luka looked at her in shock.

"Mom?" he echoed incredulously.

The breath seemed to leave her completely then.

Leaving the door open, she turned around and took a few steps forward, only to stop when Luka grabbed her arm and forced her to face him in a brusque movement. Her hair whipped around her face as she turned, her eyes wide with fright as she looked up at him.

"What—"

"Mom!" the voice called again, while little footsteps thundered down the stairs.

"Go back to bed!" she yelled back, the tinge of desperation in her voice resounding clearly in the tense atmosphere. "I'm serious!"

"But I'm hungry!" he complained.

"I'll be right there!" she snapped.

There was silence after her statement. The reality that Luka had been trying to avoid was now becoming clearer by the second.

Hesitantly, her gaze rose to meet him.

"Marinette, don't tell me…"

She trembled in his hold, and attempted to back away, but she had barely managed to take a few steps back before he grabbed her forearms and once again pulled her back to him.

"Speak to me," he commanded.

In response, she avoided his gaze and remained quiet. But in the end, her silence was as good of an answer as any.

Reality came crashing down on him before he had the chance to take in another breath. He immediately let go of her, and she stumbled back, swallowing heavily.

There was an unusual feeling of fear churning in her stomach as she watched him carefully, as though expecting him to snap at any time.

"No, no…" he said, huffing an amused, yet at the same time incredulous, breath. His eyes rose to meet hers, and there was a smile—a sad, hopeful smile—on his lips. "I got this wrong. You wouldn't do this to me. You aren't capable of that."

"Yes, I did," she said. How in the world she managed the strength to keep her voice steady was beyond her. "And I am."

For a moment, he was distracted by the sound of her voice.

But then he wasn't. "Are you trying to tell me that—"

"Yes."

The shock numbed his movements as he slowly turned around to look upstairs. In a second, Marinette was in front of him, standing protectively between him and the staircase.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"I didn't want anything to do with you, and you didn't want anything to do with me. That's why I shut up. Our marriage was messed up—and over. And I wasn't going to throw a child in that environment." It was a speech she had repeated all too many times.

"Because of you, I've lost six years of my child's life, Marinette!"

"I know that. Trust me, I do. I—"

"Were you never going to tell me?"

"I was going to tell you!" she snapped. "I'm not the selfish bitch you think I am. But this wasn't just about the two of us anymore. It was about Cadence. I never hid anything from him. I never spoke badly of you, like you probably think I did. When we got here, I asked him… I asked him if he wanted to meet you—because it was him who mattered. His answer was 'no'. And that is not my fault."

Luka scoffed. "Of course it was a 'no'! I'm a stranger to him!"

"Well, change that!"

He reeled back, surprised at how accepting she was being towards this entire situation. It was as though she had been waiting—yearning—for this to happen; as though it was what she had always wanted, but never knew how to make it reality.

"How?" he whispered.

"Be with him," she answered, gazing deep into his eyes. "You're his father. Spend time with him, get to know him…"

Their voices lowered as the argument died down. All that was left now were two broken people, staring at each other, begging each other with their eyes to understand, to forgive—to do the right thing this time.

Luka shook his head. "You're just as confusing as always."

"Cadence may not need you, but he deserves to have a father figure in his life. I can't offer him that. And for God's sake, I'm not going to keep you away from your own child! It's not like you raped me! With you… I spent the most beautiful moments with you. Cadence is… he is the proof that we once lo—cared about each other." She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I don't want you to stay away from him."

He looked at her incredulously, as though he was unable to believe what he was hearing, unable to grasp what she was telling him, unable to absorb the information he had been presented with. She had always known this would end up badly, that she would ruin what was left of them—the reminiscence of a quiet love—by doing this. But standing in front of him now, unable to tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what he probably considered her to be, was more painful and disconcerting than anything she could have ever imagined.

Her eyes softening, she took a step forward and reached out for him. "Luka, I—" She tried to touch him, but he jerked away.

"Stop," he commanded, putting his hands up. "Just—don't say anything. You've done enough." He turned around then and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Marinette swallowed. A shuddering breath left her lips, and every muscle in her body seemed to fail her as she sunk down on the back of the couch, suddenly lightheaded.

It took everything of her to push back her tears and control her meltdown, but she managed. Because Cadence was upstairs, waiting for an explanation.