Mrs Ahmed Shehu

02

AHMED

May 1st 2022

Abuja, Nigeria

There's a soft throb in my temple and I have a feeling it's going to turn into a headache soon but I can't do much about it until much later; until I'm done prepping.

I like to think I've held out quite fine since Asma's things were taken away the day after I left her at the police station. I've broken down a number of times in the sanctuary of what has now become my room and I've hated a lot of things I've once loved but I've held out well. I really have.

The kids are good and the house is as neat as it could be. I've handled that on my own and I'm grateful things are going fine to a certain extent. The kids know Asma's not coming back. I haven't told them the full story and they haven't asked. Every single day, I wake up grateful about the fact that they (all three of them) took the news of Asma not coming back quite well. Especially Teslimah. It could have been worse but it wasn't so Alhamdulillah.

The help resigned and I don't blame her. She was there when Asma confessed all she'd done and one look at how shaken she was told me she wasn't going to stay and she didn't. I've reached out for a cleaning team to replace her. They won't come in every day; twice or thrice a week is good enough. It's not like we'll dirty the house. I just need to get Adeelah on board with being a little cleaner after herself. That girl is not going to end me.

Then, there's the lady Mama recommended because her sisters and Baba's sisters had nothing but positive reviews about her. Knowing how picky my aunts are, this lady has to be good. I admit that I'm scared out of my mind to trust someone with Teslimah, Adeelah and Nurudeen, but Mama has a point. I'm only home for certain periods of time and I can't leave them alone. I can't toss them around either.

I'm holding on to the hope that everything will be alright. In Shaa Allah everything will be fine.

The doorbell rings as I put the sliced cabbage in the fridge. I'm tempted to ignore it so the person on the other side of the door leaves eventually but I know better. The guilt will eat me alive today. When the bell rings again, I close the fridge, clean my hands and leave the kitchen. For the hundredth time, I'm glad the kids are out and won't be back until Maghrib. They needed it and I needed it too.

The security camera's faulty and I'm yet to get it fixed so I plaster a smile on my face for whoever's on the other side of the door, unlock it and pull it open. My smile drops when I see who it is.

Hanan smiles warmly at me. She's wearing lilac and I hate the fact that I think of Asma. "Assalam Alaykum, Ahmed."

I feel the urge to cry. I've been avoiding her since the incident yet here she is, smiling at me as though nothing happened. I swallow the growing lump in my throat, hoping the tears don't surface.

"Waalaykum Salam...Hanan, it's –" I have to pause to breathe. I really want to cry. "It's so good to see you." It's nothing but the truth. "I had no idea you had been discharged."

I sincerely didn't know. I knew she was fine but I assumed she'd be there for a while, until she's completely cleared. Alhamdulillah she's been cleared earlier than I assumed.

She's still smiling and I finally take note of the covered basket she's holding when she moves it from one hand to the other. "I got discharged this morning. I said before I start sleeping again, I wanted to prepare something for you and the kids. I want to be an olive branch of peace, to let you know that I don't blame you for anything that happened. So you don't have to keep hiding away from me because you feel guilty."

My tears come then and I can only blink them back. Once again, I'm reminded that I don't deserve most of the friends I have. Catherine, Sunday, Hussayna, Salim, Jameelah and Luqman literally provided the meals the kids and I have been eating since. They filled the fridge. Now, here's Hanan.