"No, I wasn't asleep," my friend smiled before waddling toward the living room like a penguin, making me laugh despite myself.
"You walk like that time you pissed yourself when that idiot Yoan made you laugh while you were drunk," I teased, heading into the bathroom to wash my face.
"How dare you bring that up again?" she huffed, shooting me a dark look from the hallway. I only shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips.
"That's rich coming from you. Should I remind you of the time you shat yourself during your senior year of high school?" she shot back, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe of the living room. I pointed a finger at her, tossing the towel I had been using to dry my hands over my shoulder. I heard it land perfectly in the laundry basket as I walked toward her.
"Now that, I won't allow," I cut in, stopping right in front of her as she raised a brow at me. "If I shat myself that day, it was your fault. Miss Genius thought she was giving me a sleeping pill so I could rest better, and what was it in the end?" I asked my nonexistent audience, throwing my arms wide. "Laxatives," I spat through clenched teeth.
She rolled her eyes and turned away, muttering a quiet "drama queen." I opened my mouth, ready to snap back, then stopped. I was an adult. A fucking adult with… training. I was supposed to control my emotional outbursts. I always did, except with her. She was the only one who dragged that side out of me. Her nonsense always called to mine.
I sighed and followed her after turning off the bathroom light.
"This kid is going to drive me insane. He won't stop flipping around," Alma groaned as she sat down on the L-shaped couch, pulling her braided blonde hair over her shoulder.
"I can already tell we're going to have fun once he's out," I snorted, heading toward the kitchen as I heard her sigh behind me.
"I'm looking for an apartment. As soon as the inheritance is released after I give birth, I'm moving out…"
"Oh, please, Alma," I cut her off, coming back to the couch with a bottle of water in hand. "You're not going anywhere. That kid will drive you mad if you raise him alone." She shot me an annoyed look as I finished my bottle in long gulps, ignoring her.
Her parents had left her an inheritance when they died, that was what she was talking about. An inheritance that would be unlocked either when she turned twenty-five or upon the birth of her first child. An inheritance worth several million dollars, enough to make her immensely wealthy.
Her father had been a major real estate developer in Florida, her mother a renowned photographer. They had left her money, but also properties, apartments, houses, arts and various assets. But they had included a ridiculous clause in their will that prevented her from accessing anything immediately after their death. They probably hadn't expected to die so soon and hadn't thought it through.
"You'll take care of raising him while I handle everything else, cleaning, food, anything that doesn't involve… the baby," I finished, stretching my legs onto the coffee table with a satisfied sigh.
"I really don't see you living with a baby, Sanaa. Let's be honest," she smiled, placing her hand over mine. I caught it gently, squeezing.
She wasn't wrong. Maternal instinct wasn't exactly one of my strengths. It was worse than that. Whenever I got close to a kid between zero and two years old, they started crying like they had just seen the devil himself. And truthfully, I wasn't comfortable around them. I was good at a lot of things but taking care of a baby wasn't one of them. It had never bothered me before, and it wouldn't in the future as long as Alma handled the baby like I had planned. What mattered was that she and her son were happy and safe.
I would protect them. That was what I did best. All I had to do was the opposite of everything I had been taught for ten years.
"And I refuse to let you live and raise a baby alone, Alma. Not when things are this complicated," I insisted, looking at her. She shook her head.
"I… I don't want you to put yourself in danger, Sanaa," she whispered, gripping my forearm. "That's all in the past," she added and I grimaced.
"We agreed not to talk about it. You're not supposed to know all that," I muttered.
"That's not the point!" she sighed. I took her hands and placed them on my thigh.
"The point is, you're not alone, Alma. We're a family," I said, resting my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes and the subject.
"Let's turn the guest room into a nursery so you can actually sleep at night. And if you still want to move once he's old enough for school, fine. But until then, you're not going anywhere." I straightened, placing the empty bottle on the coffee table before turning back to her.
Our eyes met. Her lips trembled. Her eyes shimmered and I grimaced, shaking my head.
"No. No, no, no, please, control your hormones," I murmured, leaning away. She burst out laughing.
"How can you be so thoughtful and so cold at the same time?" she laughed, shaking her head.
"Ugh, leave me alone," I grumbled, getting up, which only made her laugh harder.
"Don't run away! Sanaa!" she called after me. I flipped her off as I walked toward the bathroom, ready for a hot shower. I closed the door behind me and turned on the hot water. Steam quickly filled the room as I began undressing, already thinking about the long lie-in I would enjoy the next day. It was my day off.
I slipped the straps of my bra off my shoulders, about to remove it, when my eyes landed on the scar on my shoulder. I brushed it with my fingertip. A thin line. No wider than a blade.
A bishou, a Chinese dagger.
I closed my eyes, forcing back the memories threatening to surface. I undressed completely, stepped into the shower, and pulled the curtain behind me.
Alma was right. That was all in the past.
A month later
"Push, Alma, it's almost over! Come on, you can do it!" the midwife encouraged as she stood between Alma's spread legs. Alma crushed my hand in hers, making me wince as she let out another scream before collapsing back against the hospital bed, completely exhausted.
"I can't, it's too hard," she sobbed, her face drenched in sweat. I pressed my lips together and brushed the damp blonde strands stuck to her cheeks.
"It's going to be okay. Breathe, Alma," I said, my eyes flicking toward the monitor tracking her vitals. My stomach dropped when I saw her blood pressure falling.
"The head is there. I'm going to grab him. Forceps," the midwife instructed and an enormous metal instrument was handed to her.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered, my eyes widening at the tool straight out of hell.
"What?" Alma whispered, confused.
I slipped an arm behind her back, helping her sit up.
"Listen to me, Blondie, you are getting this baby out right now," I growled as she groaned again. "If you don't want to end up with a damn fruit clamp, do it now. Push!" She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the sides of the bed and screamed like a warrior. The midwife startled, dropping the forceps with a loud clang before rushing forward.
"Wait!" she shouted as the nurses hurried closer. Alma sobbed one last time before collapsing against me, completely drained. I looked toward the midwife as she straightened at the foot of the bed, a tiny being in her arms, her expression dark.
"You should warn before pushing," she grumbled. Then— A cry.
Sharp. Alive. My nephew. His tiny arms and legs flailed as he screamed. I raised a thumb toward the midwife and nurses with a smirk.
"Nice catch." Alma let out a weak laugh.
"I did it," she whispered.
"Of course you did," I said, helping her lie back as the midwife gently placed the baby on Alma's chest.
She wrapped her arms around him instantly, tears streaming down her face.
"Hello, you," she whispered, kissing his forehead. I smiled, warmth spreading through my chest at the sight of her so full of love.
"I'm your mom," Alma murmured, then nodded toward me. "And she… she's your Aunt Sanaa." I pressed my lips together before reaching out, brushing his tiny hand with my fingertip.
"Hey, little man." He was so small. So fragile. So vulnerable. And suddenly something inside me shifted. Something heavy. Powerful.
Responsibility.
I wasn't his mother. But from that moment on, I was still responsible for him. He only had his mother. And me. I had to help Alma.
And despite the fear that had lived in me since that phone call last summer…it vanished the moment I saw him.
Everything would be fine. As long as we were together.