SLOAN'S POINT OF VIEW
"Sloan, dear, have you eaten?" Nanny Basya said while knocking on my door.
I stayed frozen in place, not even bothering to flinch or utter a word. My eyes were fixated on the wall.
I was completely wiped out. My body felt like it had run a marathon and my mind was running on fumes.
It's been two weeks since Yosef died. I don't know if I can breathe easy now since daddy hasn't come to talk to me yet about the next man I'm going to marry. Usually, he arranges it four to five days after my previous husbands die.
Actually, that's in my favor. I had a chance to mourn something I hadn't done in two years. If I had to choose, I would rather not get married and forget my dream than have someone die again because they were tied to me. It feels like... I have a curse.
My gaze shifted to the door when it opened. Nanny Basya entered while carrying a tray of food. Worry was written all over her face.
"I'm sorry, dear. I've been knocking for a while but you weren't responding. I'm getting worried about you. Eat now. You've been eating poorly for two weeks. Look, you're getting thin," she said with concern. She placed the food on the bed tray and brought it closer to me.
"T-Thank you, nanny…" I muttered.
She gave me a nod and forced a smile, devoid of any humor. It's clear that she's concerned about me, and I appreciate having someone like her who genuinely worries about me. It's a comforting feeling to know that there's someone who still cares.
"Your daddy, by the way…" I looked up at nanny. I couldn't help but feel nervous while waiting for what she was about to say next.
"W-What about daddy?" I nervously asked.
She took a deep breath. "He left a message that he'll be gone for a month because he's going to Italy for something important," she explained.
"D-Did he leave any other instructions?" I asked one more time.
She shook her head. I breathed a sigh of relief upon knowing that. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Nanny Basya sat beside me and brushed my hair with her soft hand. "You've grown so much, Sloan. It feels like just yesterday when Madame Bianca entrusted you to me and I was still changing your diapers." She chuckled.
I smiled. "T-Thank you, Nanny Basya. Thank you for being there when I need someone the most," I sincerely muttered and hugged her.
I wish mommy was here. If she were, would all of this still have happened to me? I bet not.
"I'm proud of you, Sloan. You managed to get through everything despite being so young. You're so strong, but I hope you don't wear yourself out, okay? When you need to rest, remember that your Nanny Basya is just here. Always available for you," she whispered and hugged me tighter.
As the day passed, I finally stepped out of my room. Daddy's absence has granted me a newfound sense of freedom in our home.
Our house always transformed into a suffocating prison whenever my father is around. The air becomes heavy with his demands and expectations.
"Where should we place this, Ma'am Sloan?" asked Junior as he held the easel and the large white canvas where I was going to paint.
"J-Just put it there, Junior." I said and pointed to the perfect spot right next to the big tree in the garden, where a shadow awaits.
I looked around the garden where we used to bond as a family—me, mommy, and daddy. No words can express how happy I was back then.
When I close my eyes, I can vividly recall the joyous moments spent in this garden. It has been a witness to the countless happy memories shared with my mom and dad. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of my mom's infectious smile and my own cute laughter as my dad playfully chased me around.
When mommy was still alive, she was the one who took care of this place. She did all the planting and watering. She didn't like anyone else touching her plants. Though the garden is undeniably beautiful, just as it was before, there is a noticeable difference in the atmosphere when the true owner is present.
I couldn't help but let out a satisfied grin as I gazed upon the masterpiece I had created on my canvas. The scene I had painted was a vivid reflection of the memories etched in my mind. It was a scene with my mom, dad, and I. Here in the garden, we are bonding and enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
After painting, I asked Junior to gather up the materials I had used. I hid the painting in my room because I didn't want daddy to see it.
At exactly one o'clock in the afternoon, I prepared for my session with my psychiatrist.
I was diagnosed with moderate depression, and my doctor strongly recommended consulting a psychiatrist besides taking my prescribed medications. I agreed to her advice, and now this is my second session with my psychiatrist.
Aside from my moderate depression, I also have a stuttering disorder. It is a speech disorder characterized by disruptions in the flow and rhythm of speech. It is often referred to as stuttering or stammering. People with stuttering disease, like me, may experience repetitions of sounds, syllables, or words, as well as prolonged pauses or blocks in their speech.
According to my doctor, the cause of my stuttering disorder might be stress. She also suggested that I undergo therapy to help me improve.
"We're here now, Ma'am Sloan," Junior announced as we arrived at Pascual Hospital.
"T-Thank you."
When he opened the door for me, I quickly stepped out. I tightened my grip on my bag strap before fully entering the hospital.
I went straight to the elevator because I already knew where my psychiatrist's clinic was. It is located on the sixteenth floor.
The elevator door was just about to close when, out of nowhere, someone came rushing in and stuck his hand in the gap, causing the elevator door to open again. I gasped in surprise.
I moved to the side of the elevator as the man entered, barely an inch away from hitting the elevator door with his height.
"Oh, I'm sorry about that," he apologized in a deep baritone voice while the door was finally closing.
"I-It's okay," I said, stammering as usual.
I couldn't help but stare at him through the elevator door's reflection. He was busy with his phone, unaware that his thick eyebrows were about to collide.
He has sleek black hair, as dark as a raven's wing. His face is captivating and capable of making every girl's heart skip a beat. His piercing blue eyes are like two pools of the clearest ocean water in the Blue Sea of One Piece. His nose is pointed, and his lips have a natural red hue.
He wore simple clothes, but I could tell they were all expensive.
Our eyes met through the reflection in the elevator door where I had been secretly watching him. I swallowed hard and couldn't look away.
Ever since Yosef passed away, I've never found myself in such close quarters with another guy. It's been a real nightmare. The trauma from that experience has left me feeling like any man I'm with is just going to bring me physical and emotional pain. But this guy's different. I don't have that same gut-wrenching feeling with him. In fact, I think he's genuinely kind and wouldn't dream of hurting me.
"Are you okay?" he suddenly asked.
I quickly nodded like a child and didn't say anything more.
"What's your name?" he asked again.
I looked away and bit my lower lip. I'm not used to talking to men.
"S-Sloan. My name is Sloan De Falco," I introduced myself with a stutter.
He smiled. "That's a unique name. By the way, I'm Dominic Velasco, but you can call me Dom or Domi for short."
I don't know, but I just found myself talking to Dominic casually. I was still stuttering but he didn't seem to mind, which I found unusual because usually when I talk to others, I always catch them wanting to laugh or judge me.
The elevator opened on the fourteenth floor. Dominic stepped out and before the door completely closed, he smiled at me again.
"Nice to meet you, Sloan," he said before the door finally closed.
His calm smile, with its serene and unwavering presence, has firmly imprinted itself within my mind.
I can't explain it, but talking to Dominic just makes me feel so light. It's like he's not judging me at all, which is a relief. I don't know why, but it's a refreshing change from the usual conversations I have with others.