Chapter Four Racheal Came By

 

Sarah’s POV

“Are you okay?” Cynthia’s voice rang softly beside me. I turned toward the sound and found her sitting quietly by my hospital bed. From the way her tiny hand slipped into mine and how wrinkled her dress looked, it was clear, she had slept here all night.

I blinked, struggling to take it all in. The beeping machines, the white walls, the sharp scent of antiseptics. Everything felt both familiar and distant, like I was watching it from underwater.

I didn’t answer immediately. I was still trying to process everything. Why I was here, what happened, and what I’d missed in the world outside these walls.

“Did you sleep here all night?” I finally asked. My voice cracked, dry and strained, like it had traveled through pain to reach the surface.

She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she looked at me intently, her little brows drawn in worry. She rubbed the back of my hand gently with her palm.

“I thought I shouldn’t leave you all alone by yourself,” she whispered. Her voice was small, but filled with a maturity I wasn’t prepared for.

I felt my throat tighten. I tried to sit up, a mother’s instinct to protect kicking in. “No, no... you need to go home, Cynthia,” I said, forcing a weak smile as I struggled to rise.

But she quickly reached out to stop me. “You need to rest more, Mum. Please…” she begged, her voice trembling.

The vulnerability in her tone caught me off guard. It was like watching a child try to hold the sky together with her bare hands. She was terrified. Afraid of losing me. And that fear sat heavy in my chest.

I sighed and sank back into the bed, my body aching with every movement, but my mind refusing to rest.

“Listen, dear,” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You are just a kid. You shouldn’t be burdened by things like this. It’s unfair to your childhood. Be like other kids. Play in the sand, chase butterflies, watch the birds fly. And with your spelling bee coming up, you need to study, sweetheart. Please... have your dad…”

I paused, the sentence fading into silence.

A sharp, unwelcome memory cut into my thoughts.

“Where is your dad?” I asked suddenly.

“Hmm... ehmm…” Cynthia stammered, avoiding my eyes.

Her hesitation was louder than words. The silence told the story. Abraham—the man I called my husband—wasn’t here. Not now. Not all night. He had dropped me off and vanished, claiming a business meeting needed him.

But was it really business?

A bitter smile formed on my lips. Betrayal isn’t just pain. It’s a slow-burning ache that crawls into your bones, especially when it comes from the one you’ve built a life with. We had shared dreams. A child. Years of promises. And yet, here we were.

I turned to Cynthia. “Did he say he was going to work?”

She didn’t speak. She just nodded quickly, like children do when they want to admit something but can’t find the words. Her little head bobbed fast, her lips trembling slightly.

And then, without warning, she held my hand tighter.

“Mum?” she whispered, unsure, hesitant.

I looked at her.

“There’s something not right about Dad,” she said finally. “He’s changed a lot for a long time now. He doesn’t show up for us anymore.”

My heart dropped. She didn’t need to see him texting another woman. She didn’t need to read the late-night calls or catch his lies. A child knows. They feel absence deeper than adults. They understand distance without being taught.

I closed my eyes for a second. Was I blind all along? Had the red flags been waving right in my face and I just chose not to see them? Or did I see them and silence them with excuses?

Cynthia’s voice brought me back.

“Dad doesn’t come to parent meetings anymore. He doesn’t buy me birthday gifts. He doesn’t get me ice cream like before. He doesn’t even take me to playgrounds like he used to love.”

I swallowed hard. I wanted to protect her, to cushion her tiny heart from these harsh realities. I forced a weak laugh. “Maybe he’s just too busy with work, huh? Forgive your dad. Let’s give him more…”

But I couldn’t finish the sentence.

The word forgive stuck in my throat. If I told her to forgive him, what did that mean for me? Was I ready to do the same?

The doctor had said my condition had worsened. Peripartum Cardiomyopathy wasn’t just a name anymore. It was now my reality. And while I hoped for healing, the truth was—life could go dark at any moment. I might stop breathing in my sleep. And if that happened... who would Cynthia have?

Before all this, I’d promised myself I would never tolerate cheating. I had always said if Abraham ever betrayed me, I would leave. Pack my bags and go. But now? With this illness? Could I really walk away?

If I left, what would happen to Cynthia? Who would care for her, protect her, teach her? And because of that, I knew I would have to endure. I would have to swallow this bitter truth for her sake.

I took both her hands in mine, trying hard to breathe.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be fine, okay? I’m always here for you,” I whispered.

And then, as if summoned by our conversation, Abraham walked into the room.

“And I am always here for you too, my loves,” he said with that charming smile he always wore when he needed to lie.

Before, those words would have melted me. Would have made me cry happy tears. I would have kissed his forehead without hesitation. But now, I only nodded like I believed him.

Did I believe him?

I released Cynthia’s hand. I wanted her to greet her father. But to my surprise, she didn’t move. She just sat back in the chair, her little frame resting silently against the backrest.

I sighed. Children know more than we give them credit for. She understood everything. She knew her father wasn’t at work last night. She knew he hadn’t come for me. She knew he was lying.

He couldn't even wait until I got better before running back to his secret life. Probably with that same woman from the messages I saw. Maybe they were already planning their next meeting. Planning to be together again—just like they promised.

But did he think I didn’t know? Did he truly think I was a fool?

Did he think I hadn’t seen the chats? The pictures? The heart emojis? Did he think he was smart enough to hide all of that from me?

“Babe, I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure if you’ll agree,” he said and sat at the edge of the bed. He reached for my hand, but I slowly pulled it away. Still, he continued like a man who had rehearsed his speech a thousand times.

“Because of your health. Because I don’t want to stress it further. I’ve decided to call my cousin to come stay with us for a while.”

“She’ll be cooking, cleaning, helping around. All you need to do is focus on your health and take your medication.”

I scoffed quietly. His cousin?

“But your cousins are all overseas. You’re the only one from your family in this country. Did you fly one of them in?” I asked, voice cold and measured.

Instead of answering, he smiled gently and pulled my head to his chest. He kissed my forehead, then kissed Cynthia’s too.

Then, raising his voice as if calling a servant into the room, he shouted, “Come in!”

The door opened.

And just like that, I saw her.

Racheal.

She stepped into the room with a smile that could cut glass—smug, evil, unapologetic.

My breath caught in my throat.

How audacious could a man be?

How could he walk into my hospital room, where I lay sick, and bring his girlfriend in with a lie so bold it insulted my intelligence?

How dare he look me in the eyes and tell me she was his cousin?