Zephaniah // z.m

Fifty two

Zayn

My eyes kept closing, wanting to drift off into a deep slumber, just like Hannah, who was sleeping on the designated bed for visitors. Like, Zephaniah, who had been asleep ever since he had woken up from his seizure.

It was three am. I was exhausted, from all the emotions that completely messed up my brain and from all the thoughts clouding my mind about Zephaniah's situation, and Hannah's words still flying through my head.

'I grew up without a mother.' How did I not notice earlier? Because, thinking about it, she had always said her brother and father, her family, and not her parents. She had never mentioned anything about her mother before, and now that I thought about it even more, it explained why she looked sad when I said something about it, why she wanted to know about Zephaniah's mother so bad.

Why did I always have to mess things up? Even when I thought I had grown mature after Zephaniah was born, I was still the master of ruining people.

It was so unfair. From me, to her. And I suddenly regretted everything, from her first few work days, to all the outbursts I had after I promised I wouldn't do it again. It saddened me that I could only realise this once the damaging was already done.

There was just one thing I, oddly, didn't regret. The small conversation we had in the waiting room. For some reasons, I felt weak, weak for opening up, even if I didn't tell her the hurtful things yet, but there was this strong feeling of relief that almost took the weakness I felt away.

She listened. She heard. She comforted.

Who had done that besides my mother ever since Zephaniah was born? No one. It confused me, maybe even scared me. I had been alone for so long, that I didn't really know how to handle it. Wanting to feel affection, but distancing after realising what I had done. Opening up.

I stared at the silhouette that was quietly sleeping in the bed, the weak moonlight shining onto her face. Her neutral expression looked pure, soft and beautiful.

I was confused. I needed time to figure things out. About Zephaniah and his epilepsy, but mostly about Hannah. Because, did I feel something for her? Or were it false feelings because I just needed someone to comfort me on these difficult days? Because of Zephaniah's severe seizure?

Why do I always confess things in my weak and vulnerable state?

I didn't know.

My eyelids felt heavy. I just wanted to sleep, but then Zephaniah's body shocked, his loud voice yelling into my ear, "Daddy! Daddy!" He cried as he sat up.

For a moment I was scared he was about to have another seizure, but once he saw me as I was beside him in the bed, he calmed down.

"Zeph, daddy's here," I whispered, sitting up myself. We still didn't know if he had any brain damage, as the results would be coming tomorrow, but I would find out soon enough once we could have a proper conversation.

Zephaniah let out a shaky breath and cuddled up against me, his eyes staring up at my face. "W-wwhat happened, baba?"

"You had a seizure, Zeph," I said sadly, stroking his warm cheek. "Your seizure was very long. You went with the ambulance."

And then it suddenly hit me, deep. It was like I completely woke up from my daze, the situation suddenly very clear, replaying over and over again in my mind. I couldn't help the tears that started to collect in my eyes, neither could I hide them from Zephaniah.

He sat up again, cupping my cheeks with his little hands. "Don't cry, d-daddy. I am here," He whispered, small droplets falling down his eyes himself. "Never w-wwant to scare you, okay?"