Chapter 12: The Distance Between
1078 Words
The airplane wheels touched down with a soft thud, but Jane's heart still felt like it was suspended somewhere between two continents. The flight had been long, the silence longer. She hadn't even checked her phone during the entire trip. She was afraid of what she'd feel. Or not feel.
Back in Ghana, her phone lit up as soon as she turned it on. A single message stood out among the clutter:
Jose: "Did you land safely?"
She stared at it, thumb hovering. Then, finally:
Jane: "Yes. Just touched down. Missing you already."
There was no reply. Not yet. Maybe Jose was still upset. Maybe she was just figuring out how to breathe without Jane beside her.
Back in the States
Jose sat curled up on her bed, phone on her chest, music low in the background. She stared at Jane's message, rereading it like it had deeper meaning.
Missing you already.
The ache in her chest wasn't just emotional—it was physical. She stared at the phone again, thumb trembling.
Jose: "Come back soon. Please."
She hit send before she could change her mind.
Her thoughts wandered as she moved through her house, feeling hollow. Her mom watched her from the living room, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"You okay?" she asked.
Jose nodded quickly. "Just tired."
But her mother's gaze lingered.
Jose missed Jane. Terribly.
The Quiet Storm
The hospital looked the same. But Jane didn't feel the same.
As she walked through the familiar corridors, the polished floors and whitewashed walls no longer comforted her. They felt clinical, cold—even judgmental. The staff smiled politely, some nodded in admiration. Others? Their eyes lingered too long. Their smiles didn't reach their eyes.
The whispers began early.
Near the nurses' station, she heard it.
"She's back… the one who acts like a man."
"I heard she's a lesbian. It's against our culture, our religion."
Another nurse scoffed. "So what? She's brilliant at what she does. That's all that matters."
Evelyn's voice broke through, steady and sharp. "You can't label someone because of how they dress. That's small-minded. Focus on your work."
Jane paused at the corner, listening.
Evelyn?
The same Evelyn who Jose had warned her about? The same Evelyn who had Jane's photo saved secretly in her gallery?
Later in the day, Evelyn was calm, quiet… too quiet. She assisted without complaint, her touches gentle, her eyes soft—almost pleading.
Jane didn't confront her. But she watched.
She already knew.
Now, she was just waiting to see how far Evelyn would go with what she felt.
The afternoon dragged on, and just when Jane thought the worst was over, her pager buzzed. A message from the Director's office.
She went in, heart braced.
Dr. Mensah sat behind his desk, looking older than usual, the creases on his forehead deeper.
"Sit down, Dr. Thompson."
Jane obeyed.
He leaned forward, folding his hands. "I'll be direct. There are rumors."
She met his eyes. "About what?"
He inhaled. "About your… lifestyle. People are talking. Patients notice things. It's Ghana, Jane. We are guided by culture, by faith. I need to know… are the rumors true?"
The silence throbbed between them.
Jane didn't blink. "No, sir. They're not."
He studied her face for a long moment. Then leaned back slowly. "Good. Because if they were… you and I both know it wouldn't work here."
She nodded once. "Understood."
That was it. No more questions. No more accusations.
She walked out of his office with her shoulders squared. But the sting remained.
That evening, back at her apartment, Jane sat on the edge of her bed, still in her work clothes. Her body was tired, but her mind wouldn't let her rest.
She took out her phone.
Jose's message sat unread again, even though she'd read it a dozen times.
Come back soon. Please.
Jane stared at the screen, but this time, there was no smile.
Only silence. A heaviness settling on her chest.
Jose was too important—too precious—for someone like her to be attached to. She wasn't just a beautiful girl with a sharp tongue and a wild heart. She was someone's daughter. A former president's daughter. Ghanaian royalty in her own right.
And Jane?
Just a woman fighting to exist in a space that barely allowed her to breathe.
She didn't even know if she could hold on to her job if the truth came out. How was she supposed to be good enough for someone who had drivers, bodyguards, and first-class tickets?
She thought of the offer Jose's father made—about the job. She hadn't said yes. She couldn't. What if they found out? What if they saw through her?
Would they be ashamed of her? Disappointed?
Jane's throat tightened as she pressed the power button on her phone, letting the screen go black.
She couldn't do this.
Whatever had started… needed to end.
No response.
No promise.
She placed the phone face down on the table.
And for the first time since Jose entered her life, Jane chose silence.
AT THE STATE
Jose sat curled in the oversized chair in her bedroom, legs tucked under her, phone clutched in her hand like it might vibrate any second.
It didn't.
The screen still read Delivered.
But not Read.
And definitely no response.
She'd typed Come back soon. Please. with her heart in her throat. The words weren't fancy. They weren't poetic. But they were hers—raw, real, open.
And Jane hadn't said anything back.
She swallowed the sting as she locked the phone and tossed it on the couch beside her, refusing to let it break her pride.
But it already had.
Her walls were thin now. Jane had chipped through them, word by word, glance by glance, that night in the hospital, in the way she looked at her like she wasn't just someone—but someone worth knowing.
And now… silence?
Jose's fingers twitched. Maybe she said too much. Maybe she scared her off. Maybe Jane had just been curious—maybe it was all new to her. Maybe she wasn't even a lesbian, and Jose had projected something that never existed.
Her heart squeezed.
She stood up abruptly, pacing the room.
Jose Yeboah-Davis. Former president's daughter. Privileged. Private. Strategic. She had spent her whole life hiding—her feelings, her truth, her softness. But Jane… Jane made her reckless.
And now Jane was gone.
Gone and silent.
- Writer
