CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
A Dark Shop Window
The
cold air hit my face as I walked through the street of Paris, I didn't know
where I was going and I didn't care. Behind me, I heard the stride of Marcus
footsteps as he kept up with me but also giving me space.
She said it was not my fault but how it could it not be. The thought followed me into the night, cruel and relentless, keeping pace with every step I took. She was inside of me, I was her mother. My only job was to protect her and I failed at it. How is her death not on me? I shook my head hard and my steps slowed beneath me. A sharp breath of cold Parisian air cut through my lungs, and suddenly breathing became work. My chest rose and fell in uneven, painful movements.
I should
mourn her, I don’t deserve to mourn her, I don’t deserve it. I pounded my heart
with my fist as my chest became heavy, hoping for a release but the heaviness
remained filling every hollow space inside me. So, I kept
walking.
The
streets of Paris stretched before me, glowing beneath the yellow light of the
streetlamps. I think it rained because the pavement was still wet, reflecting
the lights from passing cars in long, distorted streaks. Red taillights bled
across the road. Headlights flashed against the windows of closed shops.
The
city was still awake.
People
moved around me in pairs and groups, wrapped in coats and scarves. Somewhere
behind me, someone laughed. The sound was loud and carefree. I turned my head
and I stared at a group of young people standing outside a café, laughing about
something I couldn't hear. One of them nearly dropped his drink, and the others
laughed even harder.
I
stared at them.
How could they laugh? The thought came suddenly. How could the world continue when mine had ended?
Suddenly,
I caught the reflection of a woman in a dark shop window. She was standing
beneath the pale wash of the streetlights, staring straight at me. She looked
painfully thin, her face hollowed by sleepless nights, her eyes sunken and lifeless beneath them. Her skin was dry and dull, her lips colourless. There
was something terribly unfamiliar about the woman staring back at me and it
took me a few seconds before I realized that I was looking at myself
My
breath caught.
I was
the woman in the window. A heavy breath escaped my lips, trembling in the cold.
When
did I become this?
I
stared at my reflection, searching for the woman I remembered. The woman who
had laughed without forcing it, who had looked forward to tomorrow, who had
once believed there would always be a tomorrow worth looking forward to.
She was nowhere in the glass and a stranger wearing my face stood in her place.
I
looked away, unable to bear the sight of myself for another second. And then I
saw him. Marcus stood a few steps away, watching me with a worried expression.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. I folded my arms tightly across my
chest, fixed my eyes on the road beneath my feet and then I kept walking.
I
didn’t know how long I had been walking when the sound of soft, rhythmic and almost
soothing sound reached me. I slowed and looked up. Then, I realized that I was standing on a bridge. To my right, the Seine stretched beneath me, its dark waters
moving gently beneath the glow of the city lights. The surface shimmered
whenever the light touched it, the current carrying the reflections away in
long, trembling streaks.
It
was beautiful and it looked peaceful. I stared at it for a long moment. And for
the first time that night, I understood how cruel peace could look when you had
none inside you. I pressed my arms tighter around myself and swallowed against
the ache in my throat.
The
Seine looked peaceful.
I
didn’t feel peaceful.
Should've
stayed, were there signs I ignored?
Can I
help you, not to hurt, anymore?
The
words stopped me.
A
melodious voice drifted through the cold night, soft and haunting, yet somehow
strong enough to cut through the noise inside my head. I slowly turned towards
the direction of the sound. The voice continued, accompanied by the gentle
strumming of a guitar.
I
listened.
I
didn't move.
We
saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep.
There
are things that we can have, but can't keep.
I
closed my eyes and for a moment, I saw her.
My
baby!
My
lips parted and I swallowed hard. Was that what she was? Things I could
have, but can't keep. Something beautiful I had been given but was taken away
Who
cares if one more light goes out?
In
the sky of a million stars.
Who
cares when someone's time runs out?
If a
moment is all we are.
Who
cares if one more light goes out?
I
opened my eyes, and before I could think about it, my feet began to move. I
followed the sound of the voice. I walked slowly down the bridge, the music
growing clearer with every step. At the far end, beneath the dim glow of a
streetlamp, I saw him. A young man, perhaps in his twenties, sat alone at the
edge of the bridge, his back slightly hunched over a guitar. His eyes were
closed, his fingers moving gently across the strings as he sang.
The reminders pull the floor from your feet
In the kitchen, one more chair than you need oh
And you're angry, and you should be, it's not fair
Just 'cause you can't see it, doesn't mean it, isn't there
My eyes closed as the thought of my daughter again. I saw her the way I had imagined her so many times, the tiny fingers I had wanted to hold, the little face I had spent months wondering about, the life I had dreamed would begin when she arrived. The reminders were everywhere, in the tiny things I had bought, the memories I could never escape, and the silence that had replaced the life I had imagined. There should have been a little chair in my home one day, a little person making noise, calling for me, filling the rooms with life. Instead, there was only an emptiness I could not explain.
And I was angry, at the doctors, at my body, at God, and most of all, at myself. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. A tear gently rolled down my cheek.
If they say
Who cares if one more light goes out?
In the sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers
Who cares when someone's time runs out?
She mattered.
My daughter mattered.
She was loved
Her life mattered.
Even though it had been painfully short.
Even though I had never been given the chance to watch her
grow.
Even though the world had barely known she existed.
She mattered, my baby mattered
My hand rose to my chest as the ache there had become
unbearable.
If a moment is all we are
We're quicker, quicker
Who cares if one more light goes out?
Well I do
I care
too, I care because she was my daughter, because I had loved her, even if I had
only been given a moment with her. And as the music continued, something inside
me loosened and I couldn’t stop the strangled sob that escaped me, and my
shoulders began to shudder uncontrollably. I pressed a trembling hand over my
mouth, but it did nothing to silence the sobs breaking through me.
“Bewaji”
My name reached me through the haze. The voice was frightened. I looked up and
found Marcus standing over me, his face pale with worry. There was something in
his eyes that made my stomach twist and n.ot just concern, but fear. Fear of what I
might do. Fear of what he had just witnessed. I turned away from him and looked
back at the street musician and he had stopped playing. His fingers rested
motionlessly on the strings of his guitar as he stared at me, his expression
mirroring Marcus's.
Scared.
The music was gone, I turned back to Marcus. He still looked terrified, something inside me snapped. I couldn't bear their eyes on me anymore. I couldn't bear their fear, their pity, or the helplessness written across their faces. I couldn't bear being watched while I fell apart. Before either of them could say another word, I turned away and walked off angrily.
My tears blurred the road ahead, but I
kept walking. I didn't know where I was going, I only knew I had to get away. Behind
me, the music began again. At first, I thought it was the same song, the same
voice following me through the cold Parisian night. But then the melody
changed, and another song drifted after me
Counting days, counting days
Since my love up and got lost on me
My steps faltered.
And every breath that I've been takin'
Since you left feels like a waste on me
I've been holding on to hope
That you'll come back when you can find some peace
'Cause every word that I've heard spoken
Since you left feels like an hollow street
I
stopped walking, my body simply refused to go any further.
I've been told, I've been told to get you off my mind
But I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind
Oh my lord, oh my lord, I need you by my side
A
sharp breath caught in my throat. The grief I had been trying to outrun rose
suddenly, violently, until it filled every part of me. My hand flew to my
chest, and I began pounding against it.
Once.
Then
again and again.
As if
I could force the ache out. As if I could beat back the emptiness that had made
a home beneath my ribs, but it wouldn't leave. My chest only grew heavier. I
bent slightly, my shoulders beginning to tremble as another sob clawed its way
out of me but I kept pounding. Suddenly a hand held my hand
“What
are you doing, Bewa?” he asked me frantically
“Let
me go” I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on.
“Bewa,
please.”
“Let
me go!” My voice broke as I struggled against his grip. “Just let me go.”
His
expression crumpled. “I know it’s hard, Bewa,” he said, his voice trembling
with desperation. “I know it hurts. But you will be fine. I promise you.”
Fine.
The word felt impossible. How could I ever be fine when my daughter was dead? When I had lost a part of myself I could never get back?
“I
did everything, Marcus. I did everything I was supposed to do!” The words tore
out of me.
“They told me to take bed rest. I fucking hated it, but I did it. They told me to change my diet, and I started eating leaves like a bloody goat, but I did it.” A broken laugh escaped me, but it disappeared beneath another sob.
“They gave me drugs and told me they would help. They gave me terrible breath, but I took them. I took care of my body. I was hurting, Marcus, my fucking husband betrayed my trust but I sucked it up. I held myself together because my baby needed me. I did everything I was supposed to do.” My voice cracked. “I did everything.” More tears rolled down my face.
For so long, I had repeated everything I should have done differently. Every decision. Every moment. Every possible mistake. I had searched for the thing I had missed because blaming myself had somehow felt easier than accepting that I could do everything right and still lose her. But standing there, with my chest heaving and my whole body trembling, I finally heard the truth in my own words.
I had
tried.
God,
I had tried.
My
lips trembled as I looked at Marcus.
“It
was not my fault, Marcus.” The words barely came out. As though saying them
aloud might somehow make them disappear. I shook my head as another sob broke
through me. “It was not my fault.”
This
time, I didn't say it like a question. I said it like a truth I was terrified
to believe but for the first time, I do.
“I
know,” he said quietly. Something inside me gave way. “I did everything I was
supposed to do, and yet my baby died.” My voice broke. “Why?” Marcus pulled me
into his arms, and this time, I didn't fight him. I collapsed against him, my
body shaking as I wept.
“My
baby died,” I sobbed into his chest. “I never even got to see her.” Then I went
still. The words had barely left my mouth when another truth surfaced, one I had
not allowed myself to fully face. My breath caught and I slowly pulled away
from Marcus's embrace.
“I
lost my womb.” The words came out quietly, almost soundlessly. I stared ahead,
unable to look at him.
“I
lost my womb.” A nerve-wracking sob tore through me and suddenly, I
understood.
“I am
never going to have another baby.” My knees nearly gave way. The realisation
crashed into me with such force that I couldn't breathe. I had lost my
daughter, but I had also lost every child I might have carried after her. Every
future pregnancy.
I
broke.
Marcus
caught me as I crumpled into him, and I wept against his chest, my sobs violent
enough to shake my entire body. “I can't have another,” I cried. “Marcus, I
can't have another.” His arms tightened around me.
“It’s
going to be okay,” he whispered, holding me as though he could somehow keep me
from falling apart completely.
But I
couldn't see how.
I can’t
TO BE CONTINUED ON NEXT SATURDAY, 9.00PM WAT.
MUSIC CREDITS
This chapter references the following musical works:
“One More Light” — written by Mike Shinoda and Eg White.
“Bruises” — written by Lewis Capaldi and James Earp.
All rights to the songs and their lyrics belong to their respective songwriters, artists, publishers, and copyright holders. The songs are referenced solely for storytelling and thematic purposes. No ownership or copyright claim is made over the musical works.
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