Chapter Six — The Choice I Couldn't Make
3085 Words
I stared at the photograph on my phone until the screen went dark.
Tracy was standing beside her father.
Daniel Cole had one hand resting on her shoulder.
Both of them were smiling.
And beneath the photograph were the words:
Ask your girlfriend what she promised us before she ever met you.
I read the message again.
Then again.
My mother was still sitting across from me.
Binta stood near the doorway.
Neither of them spoke.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
My mother lowered her eyes.
“Issa…”
“No.”
I stood.
“I am done with people telling me to be patient.”
My voice echoed through the room.
“My father is dead. Someone threatened me. My girlfriend is apparently hiding things from me. And now you're telling me that marrying Binta is somehow going to protect my life?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at Binta.
“Did you know about this?”
She shook her head.
“I swear I didn't.”
I believed her.
That was the problem.
I believed Binta more than I wanted to.
My mother finally spoke.
“Your father believed that Binta was the safest person for you.”
“Why?”
“He never told me.”
“You're my mother.”
“I know.”
“Then why don't you know anything?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Because your father didn't tell me everything.”
I walked toward the window.
Outside, Monrovia was moving as if nothing had happened.
Cars passed.
People walked along the road.
A vendor shouted somewhere in the distance.
Life continued.
But mine had become a maze.
I thought about Tracy.
Then Binta.
Then Trina.
Three women.
Three completely different kinds of feelings.
And somehow, I was standing in the middle of all of them.
My mother picked up the document.
“The wedding is in three weeks.”
I turned.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Issa…”
“I said no.”
“You cannot keep running from this.”
“I can.”
She sighed.
“You're behaving like your father did.”
I froze.
“What does that mean?”
She looked away.
“Your father spent twenty-two years running from his mistakes.”
I stared at her.
“What mistakes?”
She didn't answer.
“Mother.”
She stood.
“You need to sleep.”
“I need the truth.”
“So do I.”
She walked away.
I looked at Binta.
She was still standing there.
“I didn't ask for this,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Your father came to my home because he was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You're hiding something.”
Her eyes met mine.
“So are you.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What do you mean?”
“You're hiding something from me.”
I looked away.
She saw it.
She always did.
“Is there someone else?”
I didn't answer.
Her face fell.
“Tracy?”
Still nothing.
Binta nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“Binta…”
“Don't.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Don't explain.”
“I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“You never mean to.”
She walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You can't just leave.”
She turned.
“You're right.”
She gave me a sad smile.
“I can't leave.”
I frowned.
“Because your father left this house to me.”
She walked out.
I remained standing in the middle of the room.
For the first time, I understood that the marriage wasn't simply something my family wanted.
It was becoming something neither Binta nor I could easily escape.
And somehow, that frightened me more than the threats.
Because every time I looked at her, I felt something I wasn't ready to name.
Something dangerous.
Something that could eventually make me forget Tracy.
And I wasn't ready to let Tracy go.
Not yet.
---
That night, I called Tracy.
She didn't answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Third time.
Straight to voicemail.
I stared at my phone.
Then I opened our messages.
Thousands of conversations.
Good mornings.
Good nights.
Arguments.
Apologies.
Promises.
Pictures.
I scrolled backward.
Two years.
Then three.
I stopped at one message.
It was from the day we first became official.
I love you, Issa. No matter what happens.
I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
From Tracy.
We need to talk.
I called immediately.
She answered after one ring.
“Hello.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Your father is there?”
“Yes.”
“Did he send me that photograph?”
Silence.
“Tracy?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you lying?”
She inhaled sharply.
“Why would I lie?”
“Because everyone is.”
“Issa, I don't know who sent it.”
“Then tell me what your father knows.”
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Tracy.”
“Issa, please.”
“Did you promise something to your father before you met me?”
Silence.
My heart sank.
“Tracy?”
She finally whispered:
“I didn't know what it meant.”
“What?”
“The promise.”
“What promise?”
She began crying.
“I can't explain it over the phone.”
“Then come here.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“My father knows.”
I sat down.
“Knows what?”
“That I'm talking to you.”
“How?”
“He knows everything.”
“Tracy…”
She whispered something I couldn't hear.
“What?”
“He told me something about you.”
“What?”
“I don't know how to tell you.”
“Try.”
She was silent.
Then:
“He said you weren't supposed to survive.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My hands were shaking.
I didn't know whether to call her back.
Before I could, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
I turned.
My mother stood there.
“Someone is here to see you.”
“Who?”
She stepped aside.
Trina walked into the room.
I stared at her.
“Trina?”
She closed the door behind her.
“I need to talk to you.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
She looked at me.
“I know who sent the photograph.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Tracy.”
---
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Tracy sent it.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does.”
“How?”
“Because she's been trying to scare you away from Binta.”
I shook my head.
“You don't know her.”
Trina laughed bitterly.
“Neither do you.”
I stepped closer.
“What are you talking about?”
“Issa, Tracy is not who you think she is.”
“You're jealous.”
“Yes.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
“I am jealous.”
She looked into my eyes.
“I'm jealous because I love you.”
I swallowed.
She continued.
“But that doesn't mean I'm lying.”
“You've hated Tracy from the beginning.”
“I've hated what she does to you.”
“And what do you do?”
She looked away.
“I hurt you too.”
“At least you admit it.”
She smiled sadly.
“I never pretended to be perfect.”
I didn't know what to say.
She reached for my hand.
I let her.
“You're confused.”
“I know.”
“You're grieving.”
“I know.”
“You're being pulled in three directions.”
I looked at her.
“Three?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Don't pretend you don't know what I mean.”
I looked away.
She squeezed my hand.
“Tracy has your heart.”
I nodded.
“Binta has your guilt.”
I remained silent.
“And I…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“I don't know what I have.”
I looked at her.
“You have my weakness.”
She smiled.
“Maybe.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then she stepped closer.
“Issa, don't marry Binta because you're afraid.”
“I'm not afraid.”
“You are.”
She touched my cheek.
“You're afraid that if you let her go, you'll lose the only person who might be able to save you.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
She didn't answer.
“Trina.”
She pulled away.
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised someone I wouldn't.”
“Who?”
She stared at me.
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He came to see me.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
“Why?”
She looked down.
“He asked me to stay away from you.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Why?”
“He said I would make everything worse.”
“And you listened?”
She smiled sadly.
“For a while.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I couldn't.”
She stepped closer again.
“I tried.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“But I couldn't stay away from you.”
I didn't know what to do.
I knew I should step back.
Instead, I touched her face.
She closed her eyes.
“Issa…”
I kissed her.
It was brief.
But it was enough.
When we separated, she whispered:
“This is why I shouldn't have come.”
I lowered my head.
“I know.”
She walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned.
“Choose carefully.”
“Why?”
“Because one of those women loves you.”
I stared at her.
“One wants you.”
She opened the door.
“And the third one is lying to you.”
Then she left.
I stood alone.
Trying to decide which woman was which.
---
The next morning, Binta came to the clinic.
I wasn't expecting her.
She found me sitting in my father's old office.
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
She placed a small container on the desk.
“What is that?”
“Food.”
“I don't need it.”
“You haven't eaten.”
“How do you know?”
“Your mother told me.”
I looked at the container.
“Thank you.”
She sat opposite me.
We remained quiet.
Then she said:
“Issa, about the marriage…”
I looked up.
“I don't want you to marry me because of your father's instructions.”
I stared at her.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to choose.”
“Choose what?”
“Me.”
The words surprised me.
She took a breath.
“If you want Tracy, choose her.”
I looked away.
“If you want Trina, choose her.”
My heart jumped.
“But don't choose me because you're afraid of dying.”
I looked at her.
She smiled sadly.
“I want a husband who wants me.”
“You think I don't?”
“I don't know.”
“I care about you.”
“That isn't enough.”
She stood.
“That's why I'm giving you a choice.”
“What choice?”
“You have three weeks.”
“Until the wedding?”
She nodded.
“Three weeks to decide whether you actually want to marry me.”
“And if I don't?”
“I walk away.”
Something inside me tightened.
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Even if my father wanted this?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it means losing everything?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Because I would rather lose you than spend the rest of my life wondering whether you settled for me.”
I couldn't speak.
She walked toward the door.
“Binta.”
She stopped.
“Why do you love me?”
She turned.
For the first time, she smiled without sadness.
“Because you are not the man you think you are.”
“What does that mean?”
“You think you're selfish.”
I said nothing.
“You think you're incapable of loving the right person.”
She paused.
“But I saw something different.”
“What?”
“The first time you brought medicine to my father when he was sick.”
I remembered.
“You didn't even know me.”
“I know.”
“But you stayed.”
“I stayed because I was worried.”
“That was the first time I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That somewhere underneath all your confusion, there was a good man.”
She smiled.
“I just don't know whether he'll ever become brave enough to choose correctly.”
Then she left.
---
For the next several days, I tried to stay away from everyone.
It didn't work.
Tracy called every night.
Trina sent messages.
Binta remained distant.
My mother watched me like she was waiting for me to explode.
And the mystery surrounding my father only grew.
One evening, I found another envelope hidden inside his old medical bag.
This one contained a letter addressed to me.
I opened it.
My father's handwriting looked different.
Tired.
Weak.
Issa,
If you have found this, then you are probably angry with me.
I smiled bitterly.
He knew me too well.
You will want to know why I forced Binta into your life.
The answer is simple.
I was trying to save you.
I continued reading.
But I made one mistake.
My eyes moved faster.
I underestimated Daniel Cole.
I stopped.
And I underestimated Tracy.
My heart began beating faster.
My son, there is something you must understand.
Tracy did not enter your life by accident.
I couldn't breathe.
I read the sentence again.
Then again.
She was sent to you.
The room seemed to spin.
I dropped the letter.
“No.”
I picked it up again.
But what happened afterward was something neither of us expected.
I stared at the words.
She fell in love with you.
My heart stopped.
Then another line.
Or at least, that is what I believed.
The letter ended there.
No explanation.
No signature.
Nothing.
I sat in silence.
Tracy had been sent to me?
Why?
By whom?
And why would she fall in love with me if her original intention had been something else?
Unless she hadn't.
Unless everything had been an act.
I reached for my phone.
I called her.
She answered.
“Hi.”
“Did you know my father?”
“Yes.”
“Before you met me?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“Did he know your father?”
“Yes.”
“Were you sent to me?”
Her breathing stopped.
I knew.
“Tracy?”
She didn't answer.
“Were you?”
Finally, she whispered:
“Yes.”
My heart shattered.
“Why?”
“Issa…”
“Why?”
“I didn't know what would happen.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
She started crying.
“I can't tell you.”
“You owe me the truth.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can't.”
“Did you ever love me?”
Silence.
That question hurt more than everything else.
“Tracy.”
She whispered:
“I did.”
“Did?”
“Issa…”
“Do you love me now?”
She cried harder.
“I don't know.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then I was right.”
“About what?”
“That none of this was real.”
“It was real.”
“How?”
“Because somewhere along the way, you became the only real thing in my life.”
“Then why are you still hiding things?”
“Because if I tell you, you'll hate me.”
“Try me.”
She was silent.
Then:
“Issa, my father gave me a choice.”
“What choice?”
“He said if I didn't get close to you, someone you love would die.”
I froze.
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Binta.”
The call ended.
I stood.
My heart was pounding.
I grabbed my keys.
I had to find Binta.
Immediately.
---
I drove through Monrovia like a madman.
My thoughts were racing.
Tracy had been sent to me.
Her father had threatened her.
Binta was somehow involved.
My father had known.
And now someone had threatened my life.
Everything was connected.
When I reached Binta's home, the front door was open.
“Binta?”
No answer.
I stepped inside.
The house was empty.
“Binta!”
Nothing.
Then I heard something from the back room.
A crash.
I ran toward it.
The room was empty.
A chair had been knocked over.
A glass lay shattered on the floor.
I looked around.
“Binta?”
Then I saw the note on the table.
My hands shook as I opened it.
There were only six words.
If you want Binta alive, come alone.
My heart stopped.
At the bottom was an address.
I knew the place.
Gold Creek.
I stared at the note.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“You have one hour.”
“Where is Binta?”
“You'll see her.”
“If you hurt her—”
The man laughed.
“There's something you should know, Issa.”
“What?”
“Your father wasn't protecting you from us.”
I froze.
“Then who was he protecting me from?”
A pause.
Then the man whispered:
“Your mother.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
And for the first time in my life, I wondered whether the woman who raised me was actually the person my father had been trying to protect me from all along.
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