2024-12-24 08:05:01Laughter spilled through the door, shaking the quiet of the hallway. I paused, my hand hovering over the knob, drawn in by the infectious joy coming from my daughters’ room. My plan had been to wait downstairs for my wife, but their giggles pulled me in like a magnet, grounding me in the moment.
Their carefree voices were a welcome contrast to the growing silence that had settled between my wife and me these past few months. Hesitation melted into curiosity as I leaned closer, shamelessly eavesdropping. Khadijat, my fiery four-year-old in sky-blue pajamas, was the ringleader as always, her commanding tone and dramatic hand gestures setting the stage for another animated tale.
“This girl, Rajiv, thinks she’s the boss of everything,” Khadijat exclaimed. “She’s always showing off, especially when that new blonde boy is around. They think he’s the cutest in the class, but he looks like a monkey!”
Amira’s laughter erupted, clear and bright. “A monkey, Dija? That’s terrible!” she teased, though her amusement was obvious.
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Khadijat’s storytelling was magnetic, each word vivid and alive. She had clearly taken command of yet another schoolyard showdown, her natural spunk and sharp wit ensuring she always came out victorious.
“And then,” Khadijat continued, puffing up her chest, “the boy asked, ‘Who can say good morning in French?’ Everybody just froze like statues! But I raised my hand and said, ‘Bonjour!’ You should have seen Rajiv’s face—she was so mad I got his attention!”
Amira leaned forward, wide-eyed. “No way! What did the boy say?”
Khadijat grinned triumphantly. “He just stood there, all surprised! But I wasn’t done. I asked him how to say ‘that’s very good’ in French. He didn’t know, so I said it for him: ‘C’est très bien!’ And then the whole class clapped for me!”
Amira’s gasp was filled with admiration. “Wow, Dija! You really showed them!”
Their laughter rang out again, loud and joyful. Unable to resist any longer, I turned the knob and pushed the door open. The soft light illuminated their faces, both lit up with wide smiles. Khadijat’s eyes sparkled as I stepped inside, her energy undiminished. Without missing a beat, I wedged myself between them on the bed.
“I’m so proud of you, Dija,” I said, pulling her close. She nestled into my side, her small hands clutching my sleeve. “But you know,” I added, “maybe the new boy wasn’t showing off. Maybe he was just nervous and wanted to practice his French. Sometimes people act confident because they’re insecure.”
Khadijat rolled her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Dad, he was trying to act smart, and I put him right in his place.”
I chuckled, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “It’s good to be confident, but it’s even better to be kind. That’s how you really win.”
Amira, ever the thoughtful one, nodded slowly. “Yeah, but some people do deserve to be humbled, right, Daddy?”
I smiled at her. “Maybe. But sometimes, it’s worth giving people a chance to grow instead.”
Their gazes followed mine as it landed on the family photo by the bedside. The warmth of the moment filled me with pride, but it also reminded me of the growing void between my wife and me. A glance at the clock sent a pang of worry through me—she should’ve been home hours ago.
“Dad, can we read a story before bed?” Khadijat asked, snuggling closer.
“Of course,” I replied, shaking off the heaviness of my thoughts. “What do you want to hear tonight?”
Amira reached for the worn cover of *The Secret Garden*. “How about this one?” she suggested.
I nodded, settling between them as I began to read aloud. The familiar words filled the room, but my mind wandered. The changes of the past year felt like fractures—the distance between my wife and me growing with every late shift at the hospital. I cherished these moments with my daughters, yet the void in our family was unmistakable.
By the time I finished the chapter, Khadijat was fast asleep against my arm, and Amira’s eyes were heavy with sleep. I kissed their foreheads before slipping out of the room, closing the door softly behind me.
Downstairs, the silence of the dining room was oppressive. A single candle flickered on the table, its shadows dancing across the walls. I paced restlessly, dialing Rashvia’s number for the third time. Each unanswered ring deepened the pit in my stomach. My text from earlier had gone unanswered.
The sound of the front door startled me, and I turned to see Akashi walking in, his posture calm but purposeful. “Hello, Dad,” he greeted, pulling off his jacket.
“Where are you coming from?” I asked, masking my concern with sternness.
“I went to see a friend off. Evening study,” he explained casually.
“Next time, let me know before you leave the house at night,” I warned, my voice firm.
He nodded, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. “Here,” he said, his lips curving into a slight smile.
I opened it, my breath catching as I read the contents. “Akashi, this is amazing! You got into the university to study medicine and surgery, just like your mother wanted!”
“Yeah, just like Mom wants,” he replied, his tone subdued.
I placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She’ll be so proud when she hears. This will make her day.”
Picking up my phone, I dialed Rashvia’s number again. The voicemail answered once more, tightening the knot in my chest. I sent another text: *Where are you? Please call me.*
The minutes dragged by. Akashi sat at the edge of the table, his face illuminated by the dim light. “Do you think something happened?” he asked, worry etched into his features.
“No,” I said quickly, though the doubt in my voice betrayed me. “She probably got caught up at work. You know how she is.” But even as I said it, I couldn’t shake the unease.
Then, my phone buzzed, breaking the tension. Relief was short-lived as I answered, only to hear an unfamiliar voice.
“Mr. Rajvier? This is St. George’s Hospital. Your wife has been admitted to the emergency unit. We need you to come down immediately.”
The room spun as the words sank in. My grip tightened around the phone, and I felt Akashi’s questioning gaze on me. But there was no time to process—only the urgency of the moment as I grabbed my keys and prepared for what awaited me at the hospital.
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