CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
Another Day
I was awake before I opened my eyes, and for a while, I remained still beneath the covers, staring into the darkness behind my eyelids. I had been awake like this for several minutes, perhaps longer. I don't know.
There had been a time when waking up had meant something. A new morning, another day, another chance to do something, but now, waking up meant remembering.
My daughter was dead, and my womb was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it either. I finally opened my eyes. The curtains were still drawn, leaving the room dim despite the morning outside. A thin line of pale light slipped through the gap between them and rested quietly on the floor. I quietly watched it and didn't move.
Three weeks had passed since that night at the bridge. The night I broke down in front of a total stranger, the night I realised that I had nothing left to live for. And life continued anyway, and I just wasn't interested in joining it.
I pulled the blanket closer around myself and turned on my side. I didn't want to get up, and there was no particular reason why; I just didn't want to. My body felt heavy, but it wasn't tiredness exactly. It was as though every movement required a decision I did not have the energy to make. Even the smallest things felt unnecessary.
I closed my eyes again, and a few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. I didn't answer, and a few seconds later, there came a familiar, gentle and slightly husky voice from the other side.
“Bewa?”
My eyes flew open, and for several seconds, I simply stared at the door. I had not expected her. Not here. Not now.
The woman spoke again, even more quietly. “Bewa, it’s me.”
I swallowed and still did not move, but the recognition had pulled me out of the fog that had swallowed most of my mornings.
“I know you’re in there,” she said gently. “Marcus told me you might not want to see anyone. I just wanted to check on you.”
I closed my eyes again and sighed heavily.
"Come in," I responded in my dry voice, and at that moment, I realised that it had been a while since I had talked. I slowly raised my body up as Fatima entered. I rested my head on the headboard while she positioned herself in front of me.
"Hey!" she greeted, and I nodded instead of speaking.
"How have you been?"
I closed my eyes and sighed, irritated by the fact that she was waiting for me to say something. I had spent the past few weeks avoiding conversations, avoiding people, and, whenever possible, avoiding my own thoughts. I did not have the energy to explain how I felt when I barely understood it myself.
“What do you think?” I finally asked after a few seconds, my voice barely above a whisper.
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she moved closer and sat beside me on the bed. She took my right hand between both of hers, and instinctively, I tried to pull away. But the warmth of her palms against my cold fingers made me stop.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
"For what?" I asked, even though I knew it was about my baby.
There was a trace of tears in her eyes, and something about the sight of them made me look at her properly.
"For what?" I asked, even though I already knew.
“For abandoning you.”
Her fingers gently rubbed the back of my hand, almost as though she were trying to remind me that she was there. I stared at her for a moment, and in her eyes, I saw the friend I had known before everything fell apart.
"When I found out that Kylian Mbappe was your husband and there was no chance for you and Marcus to be together, I was angry with you. It felt like you betrayed our trust."
"There was a reason for that," I quickly said.
"I know, I know." She nodded, her voice softening. "The reason you kept it a secret, we know. Marcus told us. I should have reached out to you then."
"You were trying to protect Marcus."
"That is the excuse, and it is actually a good one." She paused, her thumb continuing to move slowly over the back of my hand. “But that is what it is, an excuse."
"Fatima," I called her softly, and she looked at me.
"Marcus said he needed space from you to heal, and we decided that we needed space from you too for Marcus." Her voice dropped as though she was ashamed of the words now that she was finally saying them aloud. I looked away, letting my eyes settle on our hands.
"As it should be, Marcus is your friend." I tried to console her.
"But you are our friend too." The words came out abruptly, and the tears she had been holding back finally slipped down her cheeks. "You are my friend, and I knew the dynamics of your marriage. I never should have left you alone. To think you went through all of that and I didn't know." Her voice broke as she wiped at her face. "I am a terrible friend."
“Hey.” I reached out and held her shoulder. “Don’t you ever call my friend a terrible person.”
"But I am. If I had been with you, none of this would have happened." She shook her head, tears continuing to fall.
"You don't know that. Nobody knows that." My voice was firmer this time. "It is not your fault, it is not my fault. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and it is no one's fault." She looked at me through her tears, and I squeezed her shoulder gently. The words felt strange coming from my mouth, but I meant them.
"I am also sorry for not being here for you when I found out what happened."
"That is hardly your fault. I didn't want anyone to be here for me; I wanted space."
"But not that much space." She shook her head, her voice trembling. "But I couldn't look you in the eyes knowing I left you alone."
"Fatima," I cut in sternly, but she continued.
"But I was afraid I would make things worse, do more harm than good."
"And now?" She was quiet for a moment.
"And now, I realised it is not about me but about my sweet, lovely friend who went through something terrible and is still going through it." Her voice broke on the last few words. I looked down at our hands. She was still holding mine, her fingers warm against my skin.
She looked away and sighed heavily before turning back to me.
"I know people have been saying this a lot, and you don't want to hear it again, but I need to say it." She paused, her voice softening. "I am really sorry for your loss."
For some weird reason, that got to me, and I could feel tears rolling down my eyes, to my surprise. I haven't cared about anything in two weeks; I had felt numb and dull for that period.
"Thank you," I said as I nodded.
"And I am here for you, anything you need."
"Thanks." I moved closer and wrapped my arms around her. She hugged me tightly, and for a few seconds, I allowed myself to stay there, surrounded by the warmth of someone who had known me before my life became this. Eventually, I pulled away.
"Thank you for your support, but right now, I want to be alone."
She smiled and said, "I understand, but right now, that will be a little difficult."
"Why?" I scowled.
"Because he said to tell you that he fixed your appointment with your doctor in an hour's time, and you need to prepare to go."
"No!" I grunted and leaned back against the headboard. I really did not want to go anywhere.
Especially not there.
"I am not going to therapy again. I just want to be left alone."
"He said he has done that for three weeks, but not anymore."
"I don't care what he has done and what he hasn't. I am not going." Fatima sighed, almost as though she had expected exactly that response.
"He said you would say that, and I should tell you that if you don't want to go, he will bring your doctor here."
I sat up immediately. "Tell me you are joking."
"He said it would take a lot of convincing to make your doctor do a house visit and also be very expensive, but he would do whatever it takes to make you better." I stared at her in disbelief.
"Who the fuck does he think he is?" I yelped.
"Don't bite my head off. I am just the messenger." She raised both hands up, and at that moment, I missed her warmth. Still, I glared at her, but the corner of her mouth twitched as though she was trying not to laugh.
"And why are you the messenger and not him?"
"He is getting his fitting done."
"Fitting? For what?" I frowned.
"Joy’s younger sister is getting married, and she decided all the men need new tuxedos and the women need new dresses. If you come downstairs, I am sure she will try to make you get a dress too."
"Well, I am not going."
"I know that, but try convincing her." She stood and walked towards the door. Just as her hand reached the doorknob, she paused and looked back at me.
"For what it's worth, I don't think you should stop therapy. It is working."
My throat tightened, and I turned my face towards the window, watching the pale light resting against the glass.
“I don't want everyone worrying about me,” I whispered.
“We are always going to worry about you.” A faint, almost reluctant smile touched my lips.
“But I don't want you to feel like you have to fix me,” I added.
“I won't. I can't fix this for you. I know that now. But I can sit with you while you go through it.”
I looked back at her and nodded. She gave me a small smile, then she stepped out, leaving the door slightly open behind her.
I stared at the space she had occupied for a long moment.
Therapy.
I wasn't sure whether it was helping me heal or simply teaching me how to live with something that would never heal. Either way, I knew Marcus wasn't going to let me give it up so easily.
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