BASH
“Fuck!” Dad curses.
I turn around quickly when I realize what they’re doing.
Heat creeps in my cheeks with embarrassment. I can’t believe I’ve just witnessed what Dad and Mom are doing in his office. It isn’t easy to be in this awkward situation. I grip the door handle when I hear my mom giggle.
“Bash, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be doing it here,” Mom says, laughing.
I stay still.
“We’re not having sex, Bash. You can turn around now,” Dad says who finds everything is okay after their son just caught them almost having sex.
I face them slowly just to make sure they are both dressed because when I entered moments ago, mom’s dress zipped down from her back, and dad’s shirt unbuttoned while they were making out on the desk.
“Can’t you at least lock the door before you start eating each other’s face? Or at least tell me not to come?” I ask annoyingly and amused at the same time.
I can’
TRINITY Who says there is no such thing as perfect? It’s been six years of a perfect life, and what can I possibly ask for more? It feels like yesterday when I marry my hot and gorgeous husband, and now I have three beautiful kids who enjoy playing at the park. “Baby!” I turn my head to see Bash making his way towards my direction with our twins in both hands. He just comes from the airport, and he’s still wearing his dark blue suit perfectly tailored for him. “Hey, you’re early.” I rise from my seat and walk to meet him halfway. He pulls me into a big hug. My kids’ arms are wrap around his legs. “I miss you terribly, Trinity,” he whispers in my ear. I giggle. “It’s been only eight hours, silly.” I break the hug. “But I was miles away from you. You didn’t miss me, did you?” He went to Boston to visit his branch since he’s been the President and the CEO of Hughes Industries for four years. I, on the other hand, is a full-time mother since Baby Fifth was born. Bash didn’t allo
BASH It’s been ten hours since I brought Trinity to Maternity and Children Specialist Hospital, but her cervix only dilates from three centimeters to five centimeters. Trinity is still so stubborn when the contractions kick in, she stops walking and complains of pain instead. I’m already on my fourth cup of coffee. I’m done reading the book I brought with me. I walked ten times more compared to her just to encourage her to walk more. She’s wearing a blue hospital gown, and her hair is tied in a messy bun, and her hands are on her hips for support. I sigh helplessly. “Baby, if you follow what your doctor has told you to do, our baby would be distressed, and you don’t want that to happen, do you?” I ask when she sits back on an empty bench outside her room. I’m so glad she didn’t suffer too much throughout her pregnancy. I let her stop from her job when she’s in her last trimester. She complains of having edema on her feet, but th
BASH I wake up when Trinity whines beside me. I’m sure she had a bad dream, which is weird because since we sleep together, she never wakes me up because of a nightmare. I rub my half-opened eyes and sit up on our bed. I nudge her shoulder slowly, but she doesn’t budge, her whine gets stronger. “Trinity, wake up, baby,” I say as I continue nudging her shoulders. She jolts awake, throwing the blanket away. Her eyes widen, and her face fills with shock. Trinity spreads her legs wider, even in my half-awake brain, my cock stirs. She’s only wearing deep red nighties and thin panties with a bedhead, but she’s still beautiful to me. Then I notice she’s patting her panties. “Baby, what are you doing?” I ask out of curiosity. She sighs and looks at me. “You had a bad dream, that’s why I wake you up.” I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. I had a bad dream, and it was weird,” she says with worry in he
TRINITY The sonographer presses the transducer on my exposed tummy. Bash squeezes my hand stronger unbeknownst while his eyes are pinned to the monitor. “What does it say? Is everything okay? She’s pregnant, right? Is it a twin? When will we gonna find out the gender of our baby or babies?” He has been babbling since we came to our appointment. The sonographer stops and looks at smiling Bash. “Mr. Hughes, I know you’re excited to find out just like any other soon-to-be dad. Just relax, and Dr. Lee will answer all your questions.” Bash releases a deep sigh. “And you’ve been squeezing my hand, Bash. Relax, I should be the one feeling nervous because I’m the one here having a baby inside my tummy.” “I’m not nervous. I’m just excited. I agreed with you to get a check-up here and not in Paris or Greece or Italy.” Bash scratches his head. He only stops when Dr. Lee walks inside the ultrasound room. We drive back to the
BASH I catch my wife’s unconscious body before she falls straight to the floor. She just turns pale then her eyes flutter close. Everyone gasps and starts to panic. I hold her in my arms when everyone comes surrounding us. “Move away. Give her some air!” I yell while my wife is still in my arms. “Do we have a doctor or a medical expert around?” Mom’s voice fills in the air. “She will be okay, Mom. Just calm down. You will be the next to collapse if you won’t calm down.” Trinity’s parents come closer. “She’ll be alright. I need to bring her to the suite,” I tell them while they’re clutching each other’s arms. I’m not worried. Trinity doesn’t complain about anything weird. She’s maybe a little bit overwhelmed, and I know she has a steady heartbeat because I can feel her warm breath on my neck. When I walk out of the reception area, I hear their footsteps get close. I can’t blame them, though, and they’re just worri
TRINITY Experts said when someone is depressed, he should involve himself with aspiring things and makes time for the things that makes him feels better. I spent every day in this street market since I arrived here in Paris. The entire city has a lot to offer, but art makes me feel better—it gives me a little happiness and diverts me from my sorrows. I found time to visit some historic places; museums, restaurants, and of course, art galleries. I remember Bash told me that once you’re an artist, you will always be an artist. When I grab the paintbrush, start mixing colors on my palette, and brush my canvass, it feels like I did this for years and have never stopped. When Bash gave me a set of art supplies on my sixteenth birthday, I started to paint since then. I still love to sketch, though, when I didn’t want to get messy with paints. It feels natural for me. This is what I love doing after all. Either sketching or pai