Ms. Delphine says, “I did explain to you that Nena has been sexually assaulted.” She glances at me. “Repeatedly,” she whispers as if I have not lived it. She uses her right hand to twirl the large diamond rings on her wedding finger.
The stitching of the doctor’s name on the breast of her coat reads Eddington. “Yes, and the massive scarring . . .” She trails off. “Reveals a substantial history of abuse.”
She didn’t need these scars to tell her that. I could have told her that without all this fuss.
“Which is why she’s now with us,” Ms. Delphine explains rigidly.
I drown them out. The doctor says nothing I do not already know. My scars are not new to me. They are only a part of my story.
She pauses, her duty making her deliver the rest. “I also fear Nena will be unable to carry children without extreme difficulty. Maybe not at all.”
My head swivels toward Ms. Delphine, and to my shock, she is crying. I hate these moments. Consoling people is not my thing, but I pat the hand resting on my arm.
Pat, pat, pat.
“No children?” Ms. Delphine interprets.
“It looks unlikely. There is too much damage, rendering her body unable to sustain a pregnancy. And if her assailant passed on an STD that went untreated, her ovaries and eggs were likely compromised.”
Pat, pat, pat.
Our roles reverse because while I am okay with this news, Ms. Delphine is beyond solace.
“My child cannot have her own children?”
There is a lightness in my chest at hearing her say “my child,” as if I have been there all along.
Pat, pat, pat.
This time, I will not fail them.
“No more tears, Mum,” I say. Pat, pat, pat. “I will be okay.”
Mum looks at me and dissolves into more tears. Have I misspoken? Her shoulders are shaking, and she is a blubbering mess. I cannot tell if it’s calling her Mum that has reduced her to pieces or the news I am barren.
And there you have it. I will not bear children. And I am not surprised by it. It is my fate, the final nail in my coffin, so to speak, for betraying my family.
Fitting, no?
Consider it. Death and violence are my legacies.
But watching Mum strengthens my resolve to become the best at whatever I do from this moment forward. I resolve to make amends to my first family, to no longer know fear.
I swear to protect the people of my new family.
Who have opened their arms to me, have invested in me.
Offered me a seat at their table.
And have given me their name.
53
AFTER
Hours after arriving at Mercy Hospital, Nena was in the middle of getting tea for her mum when an incoming call made her step away from the vending machine—Mum would have hated vending machine tea anyway—to answer it.
“Aninyeh,” Paul began when the call connected. “I hope you are well. I know you’ve been busy.”
“How do you have this number?” She wouldn’t exchange pleasantries with her mortal enemy.
“I have my ways,” he said coyly. “You would do well to remember that.”
“And that means what?” she snapped.
“How’s Noble?” he asked. “He was just with me earlier. Seemed very healthy. It’s a shame, really, what’s happened to him.”
Perhaps if she played it cool, didn’t give anything away, then he wouldn’t get whatever he was fishing for. “All is well.”
“Cut the bullshit, Aninyeh; I’ve been in contact with Delphine. I know your father’s fallen ill quite unexpectedly.”
Nena’s stomach clenched. Let him talk, she told herself.
“Your mum is rather unnerved, I’m sure. I offered to assist in any way I can. I’ll step in if I have to, even though I’m the new kid on the block, so to speak.” He chuckled. “Of course, Delphine wants to keep it quiet from the Council. Doesn’t want them thinking your father weak enough to let his guard down and be usurped. I agree with her decision. For now.”
His banter dropped, leaving his voice cold and unforgiving. “I told you to leave this alone, girl. I told you to let bygones be bygones after Attah.”
She forced herself to be quiet. Let him talk so you don’t say something to make things worse. But she’d already made matters worse, hadn’t she? And her father was the victim.
“But you don’t listen. I told you not to fuck up my opportunity with the Council.”
“I haven’t told anyone anything, Paul.”
“I am Lucien Douglas now.”