Her Secrete Preparation
1227 Words
By the time we reached her street,
My whole body felt like it was made of trembling wires.
Every step had been a fight,
Every few meters, a battle against my own muscles.
But Rebecca never let go.
Her arm stayed around me the entire walk.
Her pace matched mine.
Her eyes never left my face for too long—
Always checking…
Always making sure the pain wasn’t too much.
When we finally stopped outside her gate,
She exhaled a long, shaky breath of relief.
“We made it…” she whispered,
Her voice filled with pride,
As if I had climbed a mountain instead of three streets.
She opened the gate gently and helped me inside.
Her home was small,
clean,
quiet—
And suddenly filled with emotion.
Because it had been so long since I was last there.
She guided me to the couch,
Helped me sit,
And knelt in front of me to remove my shoes,
As if I were something fragile,
Something precious.
“Rest first, okay?
Just breathe.”
I leaned back,
My leg is still trembling from the walk,
My chest rising and falling slowly.
Rebecca wiped sweat from my forehead with her sleeve.
And kissed my hand softly.
Then she stood up,
Took a deep breath,
And said with nervous excitement:
“There’s something I want to show you…
I’ve been preparing.”
She walked into the bedroom,
And for a moment,
I could hear her moving things around—
fabric rustling,
drawers opening,
plastic bags shifting.
Then she returned carrying a small laundry basket.
She placed it gently on the coffee table,
Fingers trembling.
“I’ve been doing this alone…
But I’ve been doing it for us.
For her.
For our daughter.”
She peeled back a folded blanket on top.
Inside were baby clothes—
Soft, tiny, neatly folded,
Each one was washed and smelled of sunlight.
There were pastel onesies,
A pair of newborn socks so small they looked unreal,
A little white hat with a ribbon,
And a crocheted blanket she must’ve made herself.
My chest tightened painfully.
Rebecca lifted one tiny pink vest and held it close to her heart.
“I bought this the day I found out I was pregnant.
I kept telling myself you’d see it one day…
That you’d hold her wearing this.”
Her voice trembled.
Her eyes glistened.
She reached into the basket again,
pulling out a folded paper.
“And this…”
Her voice cracked.
“This is the clinic card.
Every checkup, every appointment… I went alone because they didn’t want me near you.
But I still hoped.
I still waited.
I still believed you’d walk beside me again.”
She placed the card on my lap,
Her fingers brushing mine.
“I didn’t know if you’d ever talk again,
Ever walk again,
Ever look at me without pain…
But I am still prepared for you.
For us.
For her future.”
Tears fell down her cheeks—slow, uncontrolled.
She sat beside me,
Her hand resting gently on my left shoulder,
And whispered:
“I wanted you to see what you’re fighting for.
You’re not alone in this recovery…
I’ve been recovering with you.”
I tried speaking.
My throat tightened.
The words came out broken,
But full of meaning:
“Tha…
thank…
you…”
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
And breathed out shakily,
As if hearing those broken words healed something in her.
“You don’t have to thank me, Tebelo.
You’re the father of my child.
You’re the man I love.
I never gave up on you…
Even when everyone else did.”
I looked at the basket again,
The tiny clothes,
The future sitting quietly in cotton and color.
And for the first time since I almost died…
I felt hope with a heartbeat.
We didn’t know it then, but trouble had already spotted us.
Rebecca’s place sat between two streets— a shortcut everyone used when they were late, or lazy, or curious.
As we were walking earlier, a guy from my street — one of those friendly-but-nosy types — asked for passage to cut through her yard.
He paused. Looked at me. Looked at Rebecca. Looked at how she was holding me up.
His eyebrows lifted with surprise, then something changed in his eyes— recognition, shock, and that dangerous flicker of “I’m going to tell someone.”
He didn’t say a word, but the slow nod he gave us was enough.
He walked off. But secrets walk faster.
Rebecca saw the worry on my face once we were inside.
“Forget about him,” she whispered, touching my cheek. “Right now, it’s just us. You need to rest.”
She helped me settle onto her couch, slowly lifting my stiff leg onto a cushion.
The moment my body relaxed, I realized how exhausted I really was— the walk had drained every bit of strength from me.
Rebecca covered me with a soft blanket and brushed my forehead gently.
“Let me make you something to eat, okay? You haven’t eaten properly in days. Just rest your eyes.”
She walked to the kitchen, and even though she tried to move quietly, I could hear the soft clinks of plates, the chopping of vegetables, the gentle bubbling of a pot.
Her home filled with warm smells— the kind I hadn’t felt in a long time: fried onions, a hint of curry, steam rising from a pot she stirred with love more than skill.
She spoke while cooking, her voice soft and warm like a blanket on a cold night.
“I’ve been dreaming about this day, you know…” she said over her shoulder. “Just you were sitting here… safe… alive… breathing in my house again. I used to sit alone at this stove wondering if you would ever walk in again.”
She turned the pot down, wiped her hands on a cloth, and walked back to me slowly.
She sat on the edge of the couch, her hand finding mine like it belonged there.
“I used to imagine feeding you, holding you, talking to you like this… but every time I tried to visit, I was pushed away. I felt useless…”
Her voice softened into a tremble.
“Seeing you here now feels like a miracle.”
I tried responding. My throat tightened. My voice came out broken but real:
“Fee… food… sme… smells… good…”
She laughed softly, her eyes shining with tears as she wiped mine away with her thumb.
“At least your sense of smell is back,” she whispered playfully. “That’s progress. And don’t worry — I didn’t add too much spice. I know your body is still healing.”
She stroked the back of my hand gently, her thumb tracing soft circles over my skin.
For the first time in months, I felt something like peace settling into my bones.
Her voice lowered, sweet and protective:
“Eat a little… then sleep. I’ll watch over you. No one will hurt you here. Not while I’m breathing.”
But outside, in the streets, in the whispers moving faster than footsteps—
Someone was already carrying the news that I was in Rebecca’s house.
And soon, the world outside her door would come knocking.
- Writer
