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A MOROCCAN WATER LILY | Nahnah Najeeb




It’s been a week since my last breakdown and to be honest, I’m very much surprised. The vacations have ended and the struggle of getting back to feet as a single mother of three kids is indescribable. With Abigail being only three months old, I don’t have the heart to give her to a babysitter and go back to the store. I wonder how Darcy is doing, she hasn’t met Abigail yet, I hope she isn’t crying. I think about Darcy a lot, she is only seven and a kid with autism, I had no choice but to let Mother Isabelle take her to ABLE school for special care in Paris. I was always afraid before Abigail stepped into the world, what if she turned out like Darcy, what if I needed to let her go too. Raphael barely talks to me. My eldest son who doesn’t even take the lunch I prepared for him, who slams the door before me, breaks my heart but silently. The business in the store has dropped and I’m paid very less to fulfill daily bread. I feel hopelessness sinking in me that makes me look at my wrists to see all those cuts I’ve made days before.

I’m trying my best to be happy. Menerbes is a small village with greenery and love; I like the silence here which is disturbed by Abigail’s wails. I’m trying to save money to visit Darcy next year for her birthday, it would surprise her or maybe she would run away. I’ve failed as a mother and a wife, I regret falling in love with Tristan 18 years ago, I failed to take care of him or he might be alive today. Little Abigail hasn’t met her father unlike the other two, she hasn’t felt the warmth in his arms and brightness in his smiles, I miss him so much. Raphael started using heroin after Tristan died from a brain tumor and shouts at me when I try to stop him. I must be an awful mother who spoils her own child but believe me, I didn’t intend to. He always reminds me that I’m the cause of Tristan’s death and let me tell you, I’ve never felt so wrecked in my entire life before.

Tristan knew that I loved water lilies. A week before he collapsed, he bought me a water lily, a Moroccan water lily which I still adore. I stare at it whenever I miss him but when I miss him more than ever I start cutting myself. Abigail is crying, Raphael isn’t home, I’m missing Tristan and probably Darcy doesn’t care. I feel like my throat is trying to swallow a rock and it's choking me. My body feels numb and there is no tears coming from my eyes and my eyelids feel heavy as if I’m ready for a deep sleep. I feel fatal holding the knife but I’m comforting myself as I’m going to be with Tristan; at least he won’t judge me. I’m so sorry little Abigail. I’m so sorry my dear Darcy and Raphael, you’re big enough to realize what life is, move on and Mama loves all of you. When the Ambulance will arrive, the tub in the bathroom will be filled with blood and the tap would be still running and I hope I, Giselle Montese’ella would be lying peacefully as the Moroccan water lily floating and swaying...


 
 
 
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