Binta

Chapter Eleven — The Door We Shouldn't Have Opened

Chapter Eleven — The Door We Shouldn't Have Opened

The sound of footsteps below us froze the entire house.

Binta's hand was still wrapped around my arm.

"He's not alone."

I looked toward the bedroom door.

Another footstep.

Then another.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Someone was coming upstairs.

"Who is with him?" I whispered.

"I don't know."

"You said you knew the car."

"I know the car."

"Then who is inside?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know."

I looked at the letter still lying on my father's desk.

Binta's mother was there.

She helped him hide you.

Hide me.

From whom?

Why?

And why had my father waited until after his death for me to learn any of this?

The footsteps stopped outside the room.

Binta's breathing became shallow.

Someone touched the door handle.

I pulled her behind me.

The handle moved.

Once.

Twice.

Then stopped.

A man's voice came from the other side.

"Issa."

I recognized it.

Her father.

Binta's father.

I looked at her.

She shook her head.

"Don't open it."

Her father's voice came again.

"Open the door, son."

Son.

I felt something strange in my chest.

He had never called me that before.

I moved toward the door.

Binta grabbed my hand.

"No."

"He's your father."

"That's why I'm telling you not to."

I stopped.

"What aren't you telling me?"

She looked at me with tears in her eyes.

"Everything."

Before I could respond, the door suddenly opened.

Binta's father stood there.

Behind him was a man I had never seen before.

Tall.

Dark-skinned.

Wearing a black jacket.

His eyes immediately went to me.

Then to the letter on the desk.

His expression changed.

"You found it."

I stepped forward.

"Found what?"

He didn't answer.

Binta's father looked at the letter.

"Your father left that for you?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes.

"Then it's already too late."

I felt anger rise inside me.

"Enough."

Both men looked at me.

"I've spent my entire life being told half-truths."

I held up the letter.

"My father is dead. My marriage is surrounded by secrets. Tracy knows things she refuses to explain. My mother knows things she refuses to explain. And now you're standing in my house telling me it's too late."

I stepped closer.

"I want the truth."

Binta's father looked at his daughter.

Then at me.

"The truth will destroy the life you know."

"That life is already destroyed."

He sighed.

"Your father knew this day would come."

"What day?"

"The day you would discover who you really are."

I frowned.

"Who I really am?"

The stranger behind him finally spoke.

"That is exactly the question you should be asking."

I looked at him.

"Who are you?"

He reached inside his jacket.

Binta screamed.

"No!"

He stopped.

Then slowly removed his hand.

There was no weapon.

Only a photograph.

He handed it to me.

I looked down.

My breath caught.

It was my mother.

But she was much younger.

Standing beside another woman.

Binta's mother.

Both women were holding a baby.

Me.

I looked at Binta.

She was crying.

"That photograph was taken the night you were born."

I stared at it.

"Why was my mother there?"

The stranger answered.

"Because she wasn't supposed to be."

"What does that mean?"

He looked at Binta's father.

"You tell him."

The old man shook his head.

"No."

"You've protected them long enough."

Binta stepped forward.

"Stop."

Her father looked at her.

"Your mother made a promise."

"What promise?"

Binta wiped her tears.

"To keep you alive."

I stared at her.

"Who was trying to kill me?"

Nobody answered.

I felt my heartbeat in my ears.

"Who?"

Finally, Binta's father spoke.

"Daniel Cole."

My stomach tightened.

"Why?"

"Because your father knew too much."

"About Gold Creek?"

He nodded.

"But that's not the whole reason."

"What else?"

He looked at me.

"Your father discovered that Gold Creek wasn't simply a business."

"What was it?"

"A network."

"What kind of network?"

His voice dropped.

"People. Land. Money. Political influence. Everything connected."

I stared at him.

"And my father wanted to expose them?"

"Yes."

"Then why did he die?"

Silence.

I already knew what the silence meant.

"You think Daniel killed him."

Binta's father didn't answer.

I looked at the stranger.

"And you?"

He looked at me.

"My name is James."

The name meant nothing to me.

"I'm a friend of your father."

I laughed bitterly.

"Everyone was a friend of my father."

James didn't smile.

"Not everyone survived long enough to remain one."

---

The next morning, I couldn't think straight.

I hadn't slept.

Binta had barely spoken.

Her father had left before sunrise.

James disappeared shortly afterward.

And my mother still didn't know that I had discovered the photograph.

Or perhaps she did.

I wasn't sure anymore.

I went to the clinic.

My father's office felt different now.

Every drawer seemed to contain another secret.

I searched through his files until I found an old patient register.

I turned the pages.

Then I found the name.

Amina Kamara.

Binta's mother.

Underneath her name was a date.

The day I was born.

I stared at it.

There was a note beside it.

Emergency delivery.

I kept reading.

Mother and child transferred.

Child.

Which child?

Me?

I turned the page.

The next entry had been ripped out.

I stared at the torn edge.

Someone had deliberately removed it.

Then I heard footsteps.

I turned.

Binta stood in the doorway.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I could say the same about you."

She walked inside.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes."

"What?"

I held up the register.

"Your mother delivered a baby the night I was born."

She froze.

"What?"

"You didn't know?"

"No."

I watched her carefully.

"Are you sure?"

She looked hurt.

"Why would I lie?"

"Because everyone else does."

She lowered her eyes.

"Then don't become like them."

I immediately regretted my words.

"Binta..."

She shook her head.

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't."

She turned toward the door.

I caught her hand.

"Stay."

She looked at me.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep standing beside you while you keep doubting me."

"I don't doubt you."

"You do."

"I doubt everything."

"That includes me."

I didn't answer.

She pulled her hand away.

Then she said something that stopped me.

"Issa, you need to decide whether you want a wife or a mystery."

"What?"

"You keep searching for answers."

"Because I need them."

"I understand."

She looked at me sadly.

"But every answer takes you further away from me."

I stepped closer.

"I don't want to lose you."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm part of the problem."

She walked away.

I watched her leave.

And for the first time, I understood how much damage my obsession with the truth was doing to our marriage.

---

That afternoon, I received a call from Trina.

I almost didn't answer.

Almost.

"Hello."

"You're avoiding me."

"I've been busy."

"With your wife?"

I sighed.

"Trina."

"Issa."

There was a long silence.

"I need to see you."

"Why?"

"Because I know something."

I closed my eyes.

"Everyone knows something."

"This is different."

"Tell me over the phone."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because it concerns Tracy."

My heart tightened.

"What about her?"

"She isn't the person you think she is."

I laughed.

"That's what everyone keeps saying."

"Because it's true."

"What do you know?"

"I know why she was allowed to get close to you."

I stopped breathing.

"What?"

"Meet me."

"Where?"

"The place where we first met."

I knew exactly what she meant.

The clinic.

---

Trina was waiting outside when I arrived.

She looked nervous.

"You came."

"What do you know about Tracy?"

She stared at me.

"Do you remember when I first met you?"

"Yes."

"You thought I was spoiled."

"You were."

She smiled.

"And you were arrogant."

"I still am."

"Maybe."

Her smile disappeared.

"Your father asked me to stay away from you."

"I know."

"But I didn't."

"Why?"

"Because I liked you."

I looked at her.

She stepped closer.

"I liked arguing with you."

I smiled faintly.

"So did I."

"Then I started caring about you."

I looked away.

"Trina..."

"I know you're married."

She swallowed.

"I'm not asking you to leave her."

"Then what are you asking?"

"To listen."

I nodded.

She took a breath.

"Tracy knew about Binta before you did."

I frowned.

"How?"

"Because her father told her."

"Why?"

"Because Daniel wanted her to keep you away from Binta."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"Why?"

"Because Binta is dangerous to Gold Creek."

"Binta?"

"Not because of who she is."

"Then why?"

"Because of what her family knows."

I stared at her.

"About Gold Creek?"

"Yes."

"What?"

Trina shook her head.

"I don't know."

"Then what do you know?"

She looked at me.

"Your father wasn't trying to force you into a marriage."

I frowned.

"He was trying to put you somewhere Daniel couldn't reach you."

I didn't understand.

"How?"

"By making Binta your family."

I stared at her.

"Why would that protect me?"

"Because Daniel couldn't openly hurt the daughter of the man your father trusted."

I remembered the tea cart.

Binta's father.

My father.

The clinic.

Everything suddenly felt connected.

Then Trina whispered:

"There was another reason."

"What?"

"Your father knew Tracy loved you."

I looked at her.

"So?"

"He was afraid she would eventually have to choose between you and her father."

I froze.

"Did she?"

Trina nodded.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before your wedding."

"What did she choose?"

Trina looked into my eyes.

"Her father."

---

I drove home in silence.

Tracy had loved me.

At least, once.

But perhaps love wasn't enough.

Perhaps blood was stronger.

Perhaps family was stronger.

When I reached home, Binta wasn't there.

Her father wasn't there either.

I called her.

No answer.

Again.

Nothing.

I checked the kitchen.

Her scarf was still there.

Her shoes were beside the door.

Then I saw the envelope.

It was lying on the table.

My name was written across it.

I opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Binta's handwriting.

Issa,

I don't know how to tell you this without breaking everything.

You asked me to choose between honesty and silence.

So I'm choosing honesty.

I read faster.

Your father didn't choose me because he thought I would make a good wife.

My hands began shaking.

He chose me because he knew my mother was the only person who could prove what happened the night you were born.

I stopped.

The room seemed to disappear.

I continued.

I have spent years believing that protecting you meant keeping you away from the truth.

But I was wrong.

The truth has already found you.

Then the final paragraph.

If you're reading this, I have gone to find the person who knows everything.

I looked toward the door.

Who?

Then I saw the final line.

I'm going to Tracy.

My blood went cold.

I grabbed my keys.

I ran outside.

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

A man's voice spoke.

"You're too late."

"Who is this?"

"Ask your wife."

"Where is Binta?"

A pause.

Then:

"She's with Tracy."

My heart stopped.

"Where?"

The man laughed.

"You still don't understand, Issa."

"Tell me where they are!"

"I will."

Another pause.

"But first, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"Binta didn't go to Tracy to ask about the past."

His voice became colder.

"She went to find out whether Tracy was the woman who ordered your father's death."

The call ended.

I stood frozen.

Then my phone received a photograph.

Binta and Tracy.

Standing face-to-face.

Inside an unfamiliar room.

And between them was a man I recognized immediately.

My father.

Alive.

My hands began to shake.

Because the photograph had been taken yesterday.