What He Left Behind
1977 Words
Chapter 4
What He Left Behind
I didn't sleep.
Not really.
I lay in bed until three in the morning, staring at the ceiling while Damian's words replayed themselves in my head.
Your father didn't die knowing nothing about what happened to us.
What did that even mean?
My father had been dead for six years.
Six years.
Long before Damian and I met.
Long before the relationship.
Long before the breakup.
So why was my father suddenly part of a story that I had spent three years believing belonged only to Damian and me?
I picked up my phone again.
His message was still there.
I had read it so many times that I knew the words by heart.
Your father didn't die knowing nothing about what happened to us.
I wanted to ask what he meant.
I wanted to call him.
I wanted to throw my phone against the wall.
Instead, I did nothing.
Because there was something worse than not knowing the truth.
It was knowing that the truth existed and realizing everyone else might have known it before you.
I turned onto my side.
My father's face came to mind.
I remembered his hands.
His voice.
The way he used to clear his throat whenever he was about to say something serious.
I remembered sitting beside him in the hospital during his final week.
I remembered how weak he had become.
How he had looked at me that night and told me not to be afraid.
Life doesn't always explain itself immediately, Amara.
I had thought he was talking about death.
Maybe he wasn't.
I sat up.
A strange feeling moved through me.
I reached for my phone and opened my messages with Nia.
I typed.
Me: What did Dad know?
I stared at the words.
Then deleted them.
Typed again.
Me: Did Dad ever talk to you about Damian?
Deleted.
Again.
Me: Why did you say you promised?
Deleted.
I locked my phone.
I couldn't ask her through a screen.
Not this.
If my sister knew something, I needed to see her face when she told me.
---
The next morning, I drove to my mother's house.
I didn't tell Nia I was coming.
I didn't tell anyone.
The house looked exactly as it always had.
The same faded curtains.
The same old flower vase my mother refused to throw away.
The same framed photograph of my father sitting in his favorite chair, looking serious even though the photographer had clearly asked him to smile.
I stopped in front of it.
Six years.
Sometimes six years felt like yesterday.
Other times it felt like another lifetime.
Amara?
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway.
Good morning, Mum.
She studied my face.
You look tired.
I didn't sleep well.
Why?
I forced a smile.
Just work.
She didn't believe me.
My mother had never needed words to know when something was wrong.
She walked over and touched my cheek.
Have you eaten?
I smiled.
Not yet.
Come.
She led me into the kitchen.
For a few minutes, we talked about ordinary things.
Food.
The price of everything.
A neighbor's daughter getting married.
My aunt calling too often.
Anything except the thing that had brought me there.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore.
Mum.
Hmm?
Did Dad ever know Damian?
Her hand stopped.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
She looked at me.
What?
Damian.
Her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
A tiny hesitation.
A flicker in her eyes.
Then she continued stirring the pot.
I don't remember.
My stomach dropped.
You don't remember?
No.
You've never heard that name before?
She looked at me.
I didn't say that.
Then you've heard it.
Amara, why are you asking me this?
Because Damian told me Dad knew about us.
Her face went still.
I watched her carefully.
He said Dad knew why he left me.
My mother's spoon slipped slightly against the side of the pot.
Your father knew many things.
About Damian?
She didn't answer.
Mum.
She turned off the stove.
Some things are better left in the past.
I stared at her.
That's what everyone keeps saying.
What?
Nia told me to leave it alone. Damian says he can't tell me everything. Now you're telling me some things are better left in the past.
My voice cracked.
What happened?
My mother looked away.
Nothing happened.
Don't lie to me.
She flinched.
I immediately regretted raising my voice.
But I couldn't stop.
I spent three years believing Damian simply stopped loving me. I spent three years thinking I wasn't enough. I thought maybe I had done something wrong.
You didn't.
The answer came too quickly.
I froze.
My mother looked at me.
You didn't do anything wrong.
My eyes burned.
Then why did he leave?
She sat down.
For a moment, she looked older than I had ever seen her.
Your father was a complicated man.
What does Dad have to do with Damian?
Nothing.
Then why are you avoiding the question?
She sighed.
Because your father didn't want you to know.
Know what?
She looked at me.
I can't tell you.
I laughed once.
It came out broken.
Of course.
Amara
No. It's fine.
I stood.
I understand.
But I didn't.
Not even close.
I walked toward the door.
Amara.
I stopped.
My mother didn't speak immediately.
Then she said quietly,
Your father loved you.
I turned around.
Of course he did.
He wanted to protect you.
My heart started beating faster.
Protect me from what?
She looked down.
I don't know.
That answer hurt more than the others.
Because it sounded like the truth.
---
I found Nia in the living room.
She was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up when she saw me.
You came.
You knew I'd come.
She put her phone down.
Yes.
I stood in front of her.
What did you promise Dad?
Her face changed.
Amara
What did you promise him?
She looked away.
I waited.
Nia.
She rubbed her forehead.
I promised him I wouldn't tell you.
My chest tightened.
Tell me what?
Not everything.
Then something.
She was silent.
I sat opposite her.
What did Dad know about Damian?
Nia stared at me for a long moment.
Then she said,
He knew Damian was going to leave you.
My heart stopped.
What?
Before it happened.
How?
I don't know.
You're lying.
I'm not.
Then explain.
She shook her head.
I can't.
You keep saying that.
Because it's true.
I stood.
Did Dad know Damian personally?
No.
Did they meet?
Nia hesitated.
I stared at her.
Did they?
Once.
The room suddenly felt too small.
When?
Before the breakup.
How long before?
I don't remember.
You remember.
She closed her eyes.
A few weeks.
I felt dizzy.
A few weeks?
She nodded.
What happened?
I wasn't there.
Then how do you know?
Because Dad told me.
What did he say?
She looked at me.
He told me that if Damian ever came back, I should keep you away from him.
My breath caught.
Why?
I don't know.
You expect me to believe that?
It's the truth.
I shook my head.
No.
Amara.
No.
I started pacing.
My father had known.
My sister had known that my father had warned her.
My mother knew something.
And Damian
Damian had spent three years letting me hate him.
Why?
I turned toward Nia.
Did Dad hate him?
No.
Then what?
She swallowed.
He was afraid of him.
I froze.
Afraid of Damian?
No.
Then who?
She didn't answer.
Who was he afraid of?
Nia looked at me.
And I knew before she spoke that I wasn't going to like the answer.
Everyone.
I frowned.
What does that mean?
She shook her head.
I don't know.
You're hiding something.
I know.
The honesty in her voice stopped me.
She stood.
I'm not hiding it because I don't trust you.
Then why?
Because Dad made me promise.
He was my father too.
I know.
Then why did he tell you and not me?
Nia's eyes softened.
Because you were twenty-one.
I swallowed.
And?
He said you were too young to carry it.
I stared at her.
What did he think I couldn't carry?
She looked toward the photograph on the wall.
The truth.
---
I left my mother's house with more questions than I had arrived with.
By the time I got home, I was angry.
Not just at Damian.
At everyone.
At my mother.
At Nia.
At my father.
At myself.
Especially myself.
Because while they had all been protecting me from something, I had spent three years blaming myself for a relationship ending.
I had cried over a man who might have been carrying a secret.
I had hated a man who might have been trying to keep something from reaching me.
And I had never once thought to ask whether there was another reason.
My phone rang.
Damian.
I stared at his name.
I almost declined.
Then I answered.
Hello.
He was quiet for a second.
You went to your mother's.
I frowned.
How do you know?
Because Nia called me.
My jaw tightened.
Why is my sister calling you?
She wanted to know if I'd told you everything.
My heart started beating faster.
What did you tell her?
Nothing.
Why?
Because she asked me not to.
I closed my eyes.
Everybody knows something except me.
Amara
No.
My voice shook.
I went to my mother's house today.
Silence.
She knows.
I know.
You knew she knew?
Yes.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
Of course you did.
I'm sorry.
Stop saying that.
He went quiet.
Did my father ask you to leave me?
The silence on the other end changed.
It became heavier.
Damian.
He didn't.
Then what did he ask you to do?
Nothing.
Answer me.
He asked me a question.
What question?
Damian exhaled.
He asked me whether I loved you enough to lose you.
I couldn't breathe.
What does that mean?
I didn't understand it at the time.
And now?
Now I do.
I sat down slowly.
What did you tell him?
I told him yes.
My eyes filled with tears.
Then why did you leave?
His voice was barely audible.
Because your father made me promise that you would never be involved.
Involved in what?
He didn't answer.
Damian.
I can't tell you yet.
My anger returned.
Then why did you call?
Because I needed to hear your voice.
I closed my eyes.
Don't.
I'm not asking you to forgive me.
Good.
I'm asking you to believe one thing.
What?
I never stopped loving you.
I swallowed hard.
Love isn't enough.
I know.
Then what is?
He was quiet.
Finally, he said,
Sometimes loving someone means becoming the person they hate.
My eyes opened.
What?
But he had already ended the call.
I stared at the screen.
Then my phone vibrated again.
A message.
Not from Damian.
From an unknown number.
There was no name.
Just one sentence.
You should stop asking questions about your father's death.
I stopped breathing.
I read it again.
And again.
Then another message appeared.
Some truths don't set people free. They bury them.
My hands went cold.
I looked around my apartment.
Suddenly, the walls didn't feel safe anymore.
I typed one question.
Who is this?
The message showed as delivered.
No reply.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
Nothing.
Then the phone rang.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I didn't answer.
It stopped.
A few seconds later, another message appeared.
Ask Damian what happened the night your father died.
I dropped the phone.
For six years, I had believed my father's death was exactly what everyone had told me it was.
A sickness.
A hospital.
A funeral.
A grave.
Nothing more.
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