Chapter 2 DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES

After sitting idle in my parked taxi in front of Salah's mansion for hours waiting for Salah. Time is up. It is after midnight now.

It is still the only time in our relationship that Salah is comfortable meeting me. I hate it. I hated he could only meet me at night and in hiding.

The only queue that still tells me It's time to see Salah is when the mansion lights up more than it always is. And all the security guards with the pistols at the door go into hiding.

As I step inside the mansion, memories of our first-to-last meeting flash in my head. I feel pain and betrayal. He left me bleeding on these floors of this house to die.

With no look back or remorse for the situation, I was in. And he sent his people to throw me out like garbage. If it was not for the old man, that picked my unconscious body on the road outside.

I would be dead by now.

But I am dying anyway.

What I am have planned is very dangerous. I am playing in a very dangerous territory. I know that. But I have nothing to lose for now. I am a dead person. Dead men tell no tales.

****

I wake up and my eyes travel to my four-year-old son, Salah Jr. on the floor, reading a book in our single tiny bedroom apartment. I watch him and pain washes all over me.

Pain from the soreness in all parts of my body from the rough sex I had with Salah yesterday. And the pain from the failing heart.

But the biggest heartache consuming me now is watching Junior playing happily in front of me. I cannot help but feel a deep sense of loss and sadness.

Why did God choose this path for me?

I always knew that raising a child alone would be difficult, but I thought at least I would be physically there with him all my life.

Preparing him every meal before he goes to school. To walking him down the aisle when he gets married.

I never imagined leaving him all alone without me in this world at four years old.

I debate in my head for the hundredth time whether my decision to choose to keep him away from his father was the right one.

And I conclude he deserves better than what his father could offer.

But now without me around. It's better to take that little his father can offer than have my son have nothing at all.

Salah Jr. looks exactly like his father, with the same piercing brown eyes and curly brown hair.

Tears well down my face. This was not something I thought I had to look forward to. I never thought I would have to say goodbye to my son and that it would be this painful.

His father is just miles away. And yesterday it crossed my mind to tell him about his existence, but I could not bring myself to do it.

My child would always be seen as someone that did not belong. His mother's son. Someone after money and status.

I do not want to subject my son to that. That is why I chose to raise my child on my own.

I wanted my son content with the little I could offer but happy. But as I look at him, I also feel a glimmer of hope. He is the most intelligent child at his age.

With curiosity overflowing him and a thirst for knowledge that is beyond his years. I know my son is special, and he will one day achieve great things.

I hope there is still this pure joy on his face when he is older too. "Hey there, handsome," I speak to him crouching down to his level as I hiss in pain.

"Good morning, Mommy. Are you in pain?"

" No...No son. What are you up to?" Junior looks up at me with curious eyes just like his father's eyes and shakes his head. It's never easy to lie to him.

"I am reading my science books, Mommy. Look, I just finished the one you bought me yesterday!" I smile at him, feeling a warmth spread through my chest.

I feel gratitude that even if I could not afford a daycare or preschool. My son is doing better than those in school. "That's amazing, Junior. You're so clever."

Then I cough out loud and blood spatters all over my hand to my nightgown. Junior stands up hurriedly and brings me a glass of water ."Are you okay Mommy?"

He enquires with his tiny, sweet voice. "I will be." I take the water and drink a sip. Putting the glass of water back in his hands as I speak to him.

"Thank you, my sweet boy... Can you wait for Mommy outside for her to change into clean clothes?"

He nods and walks in his tiny steps to leave me alone, but before he is too far, I pull him back into a tight hug and place a hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

"I love you, handsome," I say softly in between tears threatening my eyes. He looks up at me and grins. "I love you too, Mommy."

The moment his back turns away from me I feel tears rolling down my cheek.

I stand up from my bed and watch the sunrise from my window, the sun is shining bright in the sky reminding me it's time for my young sister Christina to get back home from her night shift.

The door opens with force, and I don't turn around to Tina. I remove my nightgown and throw it in the laundry basket.

She walks up to the basket and picks the gown up examining the blood coating it. Walking in slow steps up to me. She raises my face up so that we are looking into each other's eyes.

She has been crying. Her eyes are all wet. "Christina, what is wrong?" I bring her to seat on the bed.

"Can I ask you something?" she speaks her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, what is it?"

"How long were you going to hide all this from me?! " She brings my diagnosis report out of her bag. "Why didn't you tell me you are dying?"