Chapter 23: IT'S TIME TO UNDO WHAT WE HAVE DONE.

Chapter 23: IT'S TIME TO UNDO WHAT WE HAVE DONE.
The car pulled away from the curb, and with that, the long journey began. The city outside blurred past my window, tall buildings and busy streets melting into one continuous stream of motion. I slipped on my headphones, pressed play on my best playlist, and let the music wash over me. The driver rode smoothly, hands steady on the wheel.

It was going to be a two-hour journey.

I replayed the same song over and over, as though it could build a wall strong enough to contain my thoughts. Music was my only peace, but even then, stray worries kept finding their way inside.

How do I explain my father’s absence to Darius?
How do I tell him about Betty’s condition?

The questions circled endlessly in my mind.

My heart skipped as memories pushed their way in. I remembered the day Darius had insisted that Betty should leave the house. He had been so firm, so sure. Wasn’t it because I had told him I wasn’t comfortable with what she and my husband were doing under the same roof? Or was there something else?

My mind was full, my heart fuller. The weight in me felt like it would burst through my skin. I stared at my own reflection in the window and thought, I tried. I tried to avoid all of this. But Darius never understood.

The load wasn’t mine alone to carry, yet it pressed down on me like it was. What if I lose Mom too? The thought hit me hard. What will I do? What will people say about me, about my marriage?

The road stretched on, and still my thoughts refused to rest. Temptations here and there, mistakes like shadows that refused to leave. Everything felt unreal, like a nightmare I should wake up from — except I wasn’t asleep.

Thirty minutes passed. My playlist kept looping. The journey still had miles left. I sighed, leaning back. Am I sure I can keep going like this? I whispered to myself. My eyes felt heavy, but sleep was dangerous. My blood pressure has been unstable lately. If I let myself drift, what if I didn’t wake up?

I unscrewed a bottle of water and took a sip, hoping the coolness would soothe me. But it didn’t. My mind was still overflowing, still restless, still “four pockets full” like the rap lyrics — only my pockets were filled with thoughts, not money.

I decided to distract myself. I pulled out my headphones and leaned toward the driver. “So,” I began, “what do you think about the way this country is going?”

He smiled, clearly surprised I was starting a conversation. We talked about politics, the economy, even the U.S. president and his policies. For the first time that day, my chest felt lighter. Talking helped. The discussion pulled my mind off the track of anxiety, and I could feel my blood pressure settling.

We covered everything: the progress in technology, the challenges back home, the frustrations people felt. It almost became enjoyable — two strangers on the road, finding comfort in words.

But just as we were about to discuss Nigeria’s future, the car sputtered. The driver frowned, pulled over, and stepped out.

“We’re out of fuel,” he said. He went to the trunk, retrieved a canister, and began refilling the tank.

I stayed inside, staring out at the setting sun. A smile crept onto my face — not the forced ones I’d been wearing all day, but a genuine one. The sunlight stretched golden across the horizon, warm and gentle. Birds fluttered above, dipping and rising in the sky.

“This might be the only beautiful thing I see on this journey,” I thought.

Softly, almost without realizing, I whispered, I’ll name my first daughter Sunlight. The thought warmed me, and for the first time that day, I felt pretty again.

Pretty. That was the reason, wasn’t it? That was why Darius had left Betty and married me. Beauty. My beauty had been enough to shift the course of our lives. The realization cut sharp and sweet at the same time.

The slam of the car door pulled me back. The driver climbed in, dusting off his hands. We were back on the road.

The conversation picked up again. I laughed once, twice — real laughter that startled even me. The driver seemed pleased to have lightened my mood.

By the time we neared the hospital, two hours had passed. The fuel stop had stretched the journey longer, but the weight in my chest was lighter.

“The Tesla feels cool against my skin,” I murmured, half to myself. “I don’t even feel like getting out.”

The driver chuckled.

“You did well,” I told him, smiling. “Your driving — ten out of ten. Your conversation — ten out of ten. Overall? Ten over ten.”

His eyes widened a little, and his face lit up. A stranger’s kind words could mean the world, and I could see that mine had. He gave me his contact information, and I saved it. Who knew when I might need help again?

As we approached the hospital, he switched the Tesla into autopilot mode. My stomach tightened — the thought of a car driving itself unnerved me. But it handled smoothly, perfectly, and soon we were pulling into the hospital driveway.

Evening shadows stretched long as I climbed out. I waved goodbye, then hurried inside.

The hallway wasn’t as endless as the one in the last hospital, but it was still long, and the crowd pressed tight. I had to weave through people slowly, pushing myself not to get frustrated.

Finally, I reached the doctor’s office. I handed over Darius’s card for checkup and gave my name.

The doctor, Dylan, examined the card, then looked up at me in surprise. “Are you not Betty?” he asked.

I shook my head quickly. “Nope. I’m her sister. Is there a problem?”

He blinked. “No, no. You just look so much alike.”

I forced a smile, though inside I was aching. I didn’t answer, just took the new room number he gave me and left.

The room was upstairs, far from the doctor’s office. I walked to the elevator, but when the doors slid open, it was packed full. With a sigh, I waited for the next one.

Minutes dragged. Finally, the doors opened again, and I stepped in with a few others. A woman dressed in black slipped in behind me, her face covered. She stood close, too close, her presence pressing against me like a shadow.

I inhaled deeply, keeping still. Something about her unsettled me.

The ride up was silent, tense. When the doors opened, I rushed out quickly, but didn’t run. I glanced back just in time to see the woman walking the same direction I was headed.

My chest tightened. She was going toward Darius’s room.

I slowed my steps, pretending to be lost, then followed at a distance. She passed his room without stopping, and relief surged through me. The moment she was out of sight, I darted inside and shut the door, locking it behind me.

The click of the lock echoed too loud. I turned.

Darius lay sleeping. I arrived late.

I sank into the chair beside his bed. My eyes flickered to the door again as footsteps passed outside. It was her. The woman in black. I stood, crept to the door, and peered through the small gap. Her back was the only thing I could see as she walked away, her head still covered.

A shiver ran down me.

I closed the door softly, turned back — and found Darius awake. The sound had woken him.

“Sorry,” I whispered quickly.

I walked closer, sat at his side, searching his eyes. But he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was distant, heavy, filled with questions.

“Jenna,” he said at last, his voice low, deep, like a soldier’s command. “What’s happening in your house?”

The words froze me.

I stood slowly, silent, my lips parting but n
o words escaping. I looked at him, my throat tight, my heart beating like a drum.

I had no answer.