Chapter Six:
GRANDMA’S DEATH
The hospital room was quiet that afternoon. Miriam lay on her bed with her eyes closed, listening to the occasional footsteps of nurses passing through the corridor. Her body had become weaker over the past few days, and even sitting up for a long time exhausted her. She had spent so many years praying for strength that she had never imagined there would come a time when simply getting out of bed would feel like a battle.
Across the room, Mary was watching her.
The two women had not known each other before being admitted to the hospital, yet within days, they had developed a friendship that felt much older than their actual acquaintance. Mary had learned that Miriam rarely complained. Even when she was in pain, she would smile and say she was fine. It was only when Miriam thought nobody was watching that her face revealed how tired she truly was.
That afternoon, Mary noticed that Miriam had not touched her food.
"You need to eat something," she said gently.
Miriam opened her eyes.
"I am not hungry."
Mary shook her head.
"You keep saying that."
Miriam gave a faint smile.
"Maybe my body is tired of food."
Mary laughed softly.
"Then your body needs to be reminded that it still has work to do."
Miriam smiled again, but the smile quickly disappeared.
She turned toward the window.
"I keep thinking about my daughter."
"Sarah?"
Miriam nodded.
"She must be wondering where I am."
Mary became quiet.
"How old is she?"
"About six."
Miriam's voice softened.
"She is still so young. She has only known me and my mother. I promised her I would come back."
Mary looked at her carefully.
"You will."
Miriam sighed.
"That is what I keep telling myself."
She did not know how long her recovery would take, but she had already decided that the moment she was strong enough to walk, she would return home.
She had no idea that home was already changing.
While Miriam remained in the hospital, Fatuma was preparing herself for something she had never imagined she would have to do.
She was going to see Ali.
She had heard enough about the situation surrounding Omar's dismissal to understand that apologizing might be the only chance of getting his job back.
Omar had refused to go himself.
He was ashamed.
He had worked for Ali for years, and after Amina's death, he knew that Ali wanted nothing to do with him.
Fatuma, however, believed that she could convince him.
She dressed carefully and went to Ali's home.
When she arrived, she was shown inside.
Ali looked at her with suspicion.
"Can I help you?"
Fatuma lowered her eyes.
"My name is Fatuma. I am Omar's wife."
Ali's face immediately hardened.
The name Omar was enough to bring back memories he was trying desperately to bury.
"What do you want?"
"I came to apologize."
Ali stared at her.
"For what?"
"For what happened to Amina."
For a moment, Ali said nothing.
The room became silent.
Fatuma continued.
"Omar never intended to hurt her. What happened was an accident."
Ali looked away.
"I know what happened."
"Then please forgive him."
Ali's jaw tightened.
"Forgiveness does not mean I have to bring him back."
Fatuma swallowed.
"He has a family to feed."
Ali looked at her.
"So does every man who loses his job."
Fatuma became quiet.
She had expected resistance, but she had hoped he would eventually soften.
"Please," she said. "Give him another chance."
Ali shook his head.
"I gave him many chances."
Fatuma lowered her eyes.
"He worked here for years."
"And Amina is dead."
The words were cold.
Fatuma looked at him.
Ali continued.
"I don't want to see him again."
There was nothing left for her to say.
She stood up slowly.
"I am sorry."
Ali did not respond.
Fatuma walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned back.
"I hope one day you will forgive him."
Ali looked at her.
"I don't know...