The sixteenth week, Damien asked Christabel a question she never expected.
Who were you before you were mine?
And she didn't know how to answer.
---
It happened on a Tuesday.
They were in the garden. Lena was asleep. The sun was setting over the city.
Damien was watching Christabel. The way she moved. The way she breathed. The way she looked at the flowers he had planted for her.
"You're staring," she said.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About you."
"What about me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Who were you? Before me. Before Lena. Before all of this."
She turned to face him.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, who was Christabel Vance? Before she was Christabel Moreau. Before she was a mother. Before she was my wife."
"I don't understand the question."
"Who were you?"
---
She was quiet for a long moment.
The city hummed below them.
The flowers swayed in the breeze.
"I was someone who read books," she said finally. "Someone who took baths. Someone who stayed up late watching movies that made me cry."
"You told me that before."
"Because it's true."
"But that's not who you were. That's what you did."
"What's the difference?"
"Who you were is who you are. Underneath everything. Underneath the fear. Underneath the exhaustion. Underneath the mother and the wife and the businesswoman."
"And who is that?"
He walked to her.
Took her hands.
"That's what I'm asking you."
---
She looked at him.
His dark eyes. His steady hands. His patient face.
"I don't know," she said.
"You don't know?"
"I've been so many people. The daughter. The sister. The businesswoman. The wife. The mother. I don't know which one is me."
"They're all you."
"Then why don't I feel like any of them?"
---
He pulled her into his arms.
Held her tight.
"Because you're trying to be all of them at once. And no one can be all of themselves at once."
"Then what do I do?"
"You choose."
"Choose what?"
"Choose who you want to be today. Not forever. Today. And then tomorrow, you choose again."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
---
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his question.
Who were you before you were mine?
She had been so many people.
The girl who loved to dance. The teenager who fought with her mother. The young woman who built a company from nothing.
The woman who fell in love with a monster.
The mother who was terrified of failing her daughter.
Which one was her?
Which one had she always been?
---
Lena woke at midnight.
Crying. Hungry.
Christabel went to her.
Lifted her from the crib.
"Hi, baby," she said.
Lena cried.
"I know," Christabel said. "You're hungry. You're wet. You're cold. I'm sorry. Mommy's thinking."
Lena stopped crying.
Looked up at her mother.
"Your father asked me a question today," Christabel said. "A hard question. A question I don't know how to answer."
Lena cooed.
"He asked me who I was before I was his."
She touched Lena's cheek.
"The truth is, I don't remember."
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's up," he said.
"She's hungry."
"I'll make a bottle."
"She wants to nurse."
He walked to her.
Sat on the floor beside the rocking chair.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For asking that question. For making you think about things you weren't ready to think about."
"You didn't make me do anything."
"I made you uncomfortable."
"You made me think."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
Lena finished nursing.
Fell asleep against Christabel's chest.
"She's out," Christabel said.
"She's perfect."
"She's ours."
Damien stood.
Took Lena from her arms.
Laid her in the crib.
Then he walked back to Christabel.
Took her hand.
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"The kitchen."
---
They sat at the kitchen island.
The city was dark. The room was quiet.
"I want to tell you something," Damien said.
"What?"
"About who I was. Before you."
She looked at him.
"I know who you were."
"No." He shook his head. "You know what I did. You don't know who I was."
"Then tell me."
---
He was quiet for a moment.
"I was someone who didn't care about anything," he said. "Someone who didn't love anyone. Someone who had nothing to lose."
"I know that."
"But that's not who I was. That's what I did."
"What's the difference?"
"Who I was is someone who was terrified. Of being hurt. Of being left. Of being forgotten."
"You?"
"Me." He took her hand. "I was so afraid of losing that I never let myself have anything. Until you."
"And now?"
"Now I'm terrified of losing you."
---
She touched his face.
"You're not going to lose me."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm still here."
"But who are you?" he asked. "Who is the woman who's still here?"
She was quiet for a long moment.
"I'm someone who loves you," she said finally. "Someone who loves our daughter. Someone who is trying to figure out who she is."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
---
The next morning, she woke before Lena.
Not because the baby was crying. Because she wanted to.
She walked to the nursery.
Stood over the crib.
Lena was sleeping. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
"Good morning, little one," Christabel whispered.
Lena didn't stir.
"Your father asked me a question yesterday. A question I couldn't answer."
She touched Lena's cheek.
"But I think I'm starting to figure it out."
---
Damien found her in the kitchen.
Making breakfast.
Not eggs. Not pancakes.
Something new.
"What are you making?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"It smells good."
"It smells like experimenting."
He sat at the kitchen island.
Watched her move around the kitchen.
"You're staring," she said.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
She set a plate in front of him.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you even when I don't know who I am."
He took her hand.
"I love you because you don't know who you are. Because you're trying to figure it out. Because you're not giving up."
"I wanted to give up."
"But you didn't."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
---
She sat beside him.
Ate her breakfast.
Talked about the future.
Not the distant future. The near future. The next week. The next month. The next small step.
"I want to remember who I was," she said. "Not to go back. To remember."
"Then remember."
"I want to be a good mother."
"You already are."
"I want to be a good wife."
"You already are."
"I want to be myself."
He touched her face.
"Then be yourself. Whoever that is. Today. Tomorrow. Every day."
---
That afternoon, she went to the storage unit.
The one where she kept things from her past.
Boxes of photographs. Letters. Journals.
She hadn't opened them in years.
She sat on the floor.
Began to read.
---
Damien found her there hours later.
Surrounded by memories.
"You've been gone all day," he said.
"I've been remembering."
"Remembering what?"
She looked up at him.
"Who I was."