Two weeks have passed since that fight. Since I abused my husband. Since I made that mistake. All text messages and calls had gone unanswered. I had no idea where he was. I felt so miserable. And every time I held my daughter I said to her “Daddy will be home soon”. Did she understand me? No. But I said this with hopes that my mistake hadn’t chased my husband from me. I want him back so bad. I sent one last text before I slept. I apologised deeply and pleaded for him to return. I hoped pouring my heart out might soften his heart. I overreacted. The sound of the television woke me up the following morning. I ran downstairs ready to deal with the housemaid for pulling such a stunt but I froze in my steps when I saw my husband seated there. I was relieved to see him and overly excited but I had to act composed. He stood up and turned then he saw me. “Did I wake you?” he asked. I couldn’t hold back. I ran down and graced him with the tightest hug. He felt so warm and I felt so safe in his embrace. “I’m sorry baby. I overreacted and I never should have…”. He cut me off saying “it’s no problem. I just hope it never repeats itself”. It was over. Settled. No more drama. Back to my lovely dream that is life.
May 14, 2016. Our daughter was gonna be two years old. What a lovely day. She was dressed like a little fairy godmother and her friends were dressed in their different costumes. I was talking with a parent when my daughter walked up to me. “Mummy…Mummy, look” she said as she tugged at my gown. “Wait honey. I’m talking” I said as I gently pushed her hand back while still talking. She kept tugging and finally got my attention saying “Mummy…mummy, look. Blood”. At that point I turned and saw she had been bleeding profusely through her nose. I rushed her in and tried to clean her up but the bleeding didn’t stop. I immediately called the husband and we rushed her to the nearest hospital. She was taken in for examination and after running tests, the doctor returned with a diagnosis. He started slow by stating the statistics of kids with certain types of diseases. He followed up with questions on family history relating to cancer. “Doctor, please what exactly are you saying? Are you saying she has cancer or something?” I asked, unable to hold my frustration back. “Yes. She has Acute Lymphocytic Leukaemia” he replied. I immediately burst into tears. Life had just happened and I wasn’t even prepared for it. “We will do the best we can but we can only try. The tumour has spread very fast and it’ll take a miracle for the treatment to succeed” he said. My husband held me tight and helped me out. “Why me?” I asked. Why do I have to lose my daughter? Why does she have to go through this? She such an innocent girl. She doesn’t deserve this.
On doctor’s recommendation, we brought her in the week after. Given consent by us, her chemotherapy treatment was to begin. Her hair was shaved off. Her beautiful black hair. Weeks seemed like years and months seemed like an eternity. She screamed and cried because of the sudden pain she sometimes felt. Her body temperature soared. I cried myself to sleep every night asking God why my little girl had to go through this. I was slowly getting distant from my husband. Not because I blamed him but because I couldn’t help but blame myself for failing him. Why? I couldn’t even answer that question myself.
January 6, 2017. After a few months of failed treatment, I lost my little princess. My husband was uncontrollably emotional. He struggled with doctors m that tried to take him out of the room upon confirming her death. I could hear his screams. “No. You can’t say that. Bring her back to me. Do your work, doctor. Do your fucking job” he yelled with his voice quaking from an endless stream of tears. I was too weak to stand. I sat and wailed. My heart was crushed and felt empty. I need to go home. I called my husband and pleaded “I just want to go home. Please. Let’s go home”.