The Fear I Cradled

“You didn’t lose the baby did you?”

His eyes were like lasers, tearing through the layers of deception guarding the truth that lay buried in my heart. The lie sat heavy on my tongue, unable to make its way past my lips.

“Did you have a miscarriage or an abortion? Answer me dammit!”

The rage was sending tremors down his spine, his eyes spewing contempt like a volcano erupting.

“I had an abortion,” I whispered, “I couldn’t have the baby Chris, not when the prenatal test was positive.”

“We agreed Angel, we agreed that regardless of the outcome, we would have the baby. How could you kill our child?! How could you?! Where is your conscience, your faith?!”

I couldn’t bear to watch the tears fall from his eyes, couldn’t deal with his pain alongside mine. Eyes clenched, I willed him to understand.

I was 16 when my sister Jo, died. A miracle child they’d called her.  For years my parents tried for a second child. The doctors couldn’t give any explanations and neither could the pastors or native doctors they consulted. They had all but given up when Jo came along, 10 years after I had. I was so excited I asked daddy if he would let me take her to school to meet my friends. I fed, bathed and sang her to sleep. I wouldn’t let anyone near her.

“Are you her bodyguard?” daddy teased.

“No daddy, bodyguards are men! I’m her guardian angel.”

That was the last time either of my parents called me Helen.

I remember how the day started. Mummy made us breakfast, pancakes, sausages and scrambled eggs. Daddy wanted more, she said no.

“Honey, look at the size of your stomach! The doctor said you have to go on a diet.”

“Haba, what is wrong with my stomach? It’s evidence of good living! Jo, don’t you like daddy’s tummy?”

Hopping out of her seat, Jo ran to daddy and wrapped her arms as far around his midriff as she could.

“Daddy I like your tummy, it’s like a pillow.”

We all laughed and I snuck another sausage onto my plate. Needing to lose weight was daddy’s problem, not mine.

Mummy and daddy went out after breakfast and Jo and I stayed home with Aunty Nneka, the nanny. I was in my room trying to finish reading my Mills & Boon before they came home and caught me.  In typical fashion, Jo burst through the door and jumped on my bed, her skinny legs knocking over the stereo on my bedside table.

“I’ve told you to stop jumping on my bed, look what you’ve done!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to come and play with you. I’m bored and Aunty Nneka said I’ve had enough playing in the rain for one day.” She looked set to cry and I regretted yelling at her.

“You know you shouldn’t be playing in the rain, you’re lucky she let you outside at all.”

Swinging back my duvet I motioned for her to lie next to me.

“Should I tell you a story?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. She loved my scary boarding school stories. I held her close, tucking her head under my chin.

“One night in a boarding school in Epe, two girls went to fetch water at the taps...”

I was halfway through the story when I realised she hadn’t said a word since I started. Usually, she would interrupt my tales with cries of “It’s a lie!” or “I’m never going to boarding school!”

I looked down at her to check if she’d fallen asleep but her eyes were open and staring at me, yellow as the sun. 

“Jo! Jo!”

She didn’t respond, not even a blink. My heart began to beat double time. I tried to remember everything daddy had taught me to do in an emergency. Staring intently at her chest I realised it wasn’t rising and falling. I screamed.

 “Jo, wake up! Aunty Nneka!”

Grabbing her left hand, I pressed my fingers against the base of her palm. I felt nothing…and remember nothing else. The doctor said it’s my brains way of dealing with the trauma.

“She died in my arms Chris. Do you have any idea what it felt like, what it feels like? I can’t have a child with Sickle Cell Chris, I can’t watch that child suffer, knowing I could have done something to prevent it and didn’t. Call me selfish but I can’t live in fear of my child dying. I can’t do it!”

“Listen to yourself! You can’t live in fear of your child dying and your solution is to kill it yourself? How could you Angel, how could you?!”

I remembered how it felt cradling Jo’s dead body in my arms and as long as I held on to that memory, no one could convince me I’d made the wrong decision.