My home was hidden amongst the tallest of pine trees, nestled in a valley between two mountains in central New South Wales, Australia. It was a modest cottage built of cedar logs and warmed with a wood fire. During the winter months, it would produce rolling puffs of smoke. The smell of smoke would linger amongst the dew-covered pines and would tickle my nose as I walked amongst them in the mornings.
I didn’t live there alone. I shared it with my two favourite people in the world—my husband Michael and our baby girl, Sasha. I called her my baby girl, but she was far from it, having turned four years old and frequently reminding me of how ‘grown up’ she was.
Our home was completely self-sufficient, just as we were. Michael was a keen hunter and angler. He would bring home fish from the river that flowed steadily past the front of our home, or game he would hunt from the forest. All the while, Sasha and I would tend to our little veggie patch.
Sasha loved when the springtime would come around. All the strawberries would ripen, and she would take such delight in fossicking through the green foliage to find the juiciest ones. Each time she would find one, she would pinch it out and hold it up to me. Her little face would be alive and filled with adventure, her rosy cheeks against her white skin looking just like the strawberries she adored.
Michael was, without a doubt, the most handsome man I had ever seen. His hair was dark and his eyes were deep blue, with intriguing flecks of green. When I looked into his eyes, I could see the world staring back.
Our life was simple. We didn’t own lavish cars or wear designer clothes; we didn’t need to because we found our value in the love and happiness we shared.
One summer evening, however, that happiness was shattered …
The night was hot and sticky. Michael and I lay on our porch swing, my head on his chest. His arm lay relaxed over my shoulder, and his fingers intertwined with mine. We listened to the melodious sounds of the river, as the wind rocked us gently.
“Alexandra?” he asked as he traced his fingers along my arm.
“Hmm?” My eyes were closing as sleep began to take me.
“I think Sasha needs a brother or a sister,” he whispered in my ear.
I tilted my head back and let his lips dance with mine, his rough, stubbly face grazing my cheek.
“Yes, she does,” I whispered through my kissing lips.
I twisted myself on top him. His hands sat on my hips and slowly slid up the sides of my waist against my skin. His hands were as rough as his face, but my body tingled to his touch.
“How did I get so damned lucky? You’re amazing.” He tucked my long, wavy red hair behind my ear. His eyes burned deeply into mine so that it felt as though he was staring straight into my soul.
“I love you.” The words came effortlessly from me.
“I love you, too.” I had heard him say those words to me so many times, and they still made my heart flutter.
A long, groaning noise sounded from behind our home.
“Honey, did you hear that?” I sat up craning my neck to listen more clearly for the strange sound.
“It’s nothing, baby.” He sat up and kissed my neck. “Now, where were we? Oh, you were in the middle of seducing me,” he breathed in my ear. His breath was hot and smooth and made my toes curl.
He laid back on the swing, folding his arms behind his head. I pulled a play, sultry face and began to unbutton my shirt from the top.
I stopped suddenly. “Michael, I heard it again.” This time, I knew it was not my imagination. “Would it be the ...?” I didn’t get to finish my question.
I no longer lay on the swing with Michael. I was lying on the hard ground. Pieces of rubble protruded into my back. Black smoke filled the air, forcing its way into my lungs and depriving me of oxygen. I tried to gasp for air, but all I was able to inhale was the rancid black smoke.
“She’s alive. I need a medic here! Now!” a man yelled as he landed next to me. He was wearing a yellow suit with a clear facemask. “You’re going to be okay,” he said slowly and clearly. He pressed a mask over my nose and mouth. “Big, deep breaths.”
I did as he instructed, sucking in the clean air. Instead of black smoke filling my lungs, pure oxygen flowed into me.
My vision blurred in and out of focus, as I struggled to remain conscious.
Where was Michael?
“Sasha?” I began to panic. I tried to sit up—I needed to find my baby.
“Lay back, Miss.” The man pushed down on my shoulders making it impossible for me to sit.
“What? No! I need to find my daughter. Please, where is she?” There was something wrong with my voice. I was speaking, but it was barely audible.
“You need to calm down, Miss. There was an explosion. You have sustained trauma to your head and chest.”
His face distorted before me, as once again I felt consciousness slipping from me. I grabbed the ground with my fingertips, certain I was going to fall off the Earth.
A voice came over the radio that was hanging from the fireman’s vest. “How many trolleys do we need?”
The fireman picked the radio up and said, “Only one—the rest are for the Coroner.”