LOGINGesare
The first thing I notice is the sound of machines, beep beep
A slow, rhythmic sound that seems to echo inside my skull.
My eyelids feel heavy, like someone glued them shut, but I force them open anyway. The bright white light above me stings my eyes, making me squint and for a moment I just lie there, confused.
Then the pain hits.
My muscles ache, my head throbs, and every breath feels like it drags glass through my chest, I try to move my fingers twitch slightly and my arms feel completely weak.
But when I try to move my legs nothing happens, they feel heavy. A cold wave of panic spreads through my chest as I try to move the again but still nothing moves.
“Where am I?” My voice comes out dry and hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. I glance around the unfamiliar room, searching for something, anything that might explain where I am or what's happening to me.
“Why can’t I feel my legs?” I ask trying to hold back the tears threatening my eyes.
“It’s okay,” a gentle female voice says softly as her warm hand rests on my arm. “You are safe, you are okay.”
I turn my head slowly.
A nurse stands beside me, adjusting one of the machines. She looks kind, her dark hair pulled neatly into a bun.
“You are at Memorial Hospital,” she says calmly. “You were involved in a car accident last night.”
The words echo in my mind, Car accident
Suddenly fragments of memory flash through my head, I remember walking, the screeching tires, voices and then nothing.
“Oh no” I whisper.
The nurse looks at me with concern.
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, trying to push myself up. “But I have to go. I need to leave.”
Pain shoots through my entire body the moment I try to move.
“Why can’t I feel my legs?” I ask again, panic creeping into my voice.
The nurse gently presses my shoulder, guiding me back onto the bed.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says softly. “But we can’t let you leave yet. You were in a serious accident.” Her voice lowers, “You can’t walk right now.”
“No that’s not possible.”
I try to move my legs again but they can't move. My breathing becomes shallow as fear claws its way up my throat.
I glance at the nurse’s name tag, Maya.
“Maya,” I say slowly, grabbing her hand before she can move away. “I can’t afford this treatment.”I say my voice desperate.
“I don’t have any money,” I continue desperately. “No family I can call, no one who can pay for this.” My voice cracks, “I’m homeless.”
The word tastes bitter in my mouth, but it was true.
“I don’t even remember how I got here,” I add quickly. “I’m sure I can manage to walk if I try. Please just let me go.”
Tears spill down my cheeks as I attempt to push myself up again.
Pain explodes through my body and I collapse back against the pillow with a weak cry.
For a moment, Maya just looks at me.
And for the first time since I woke up, I see something different in her eyes, pity.
She quickly looks away.
"Even if I could let you go I can't." she states, “One of your legs is broken,” she says gently. “You won’t be able to walk for a while.”
My heart sinks deeper.
“And” she hesitates slightly.
“Your baby is also at risk. We need to monitor her heartbeat for at least the next twenty four hours.”
Baby, I had forgotten I had just found out I was pregnant too, hoping it was just a bad dream.
“I told the other doctors already,” I say weakly. “I’m not pregnant.”
Maya doesn’t respond, Instead, she reaches for something on the tray beside the bed. It's a small black qnd white image.
She holds it up so I can see.
“You are fourteen weeks pregnant, Gesare,” she says gently. “. And look, it’s a girl.”
My eyes focus on the blurry image.
“And she’ iw a fighter,” Maya adds with a small smile. “Just like you.”
My hand slowly moves to my stomach.
“How long until I can walk?” I ask quietly.
Maya continues checking the machines beside my bed.
“I can’t say yet,” she answers. “The doctor will explain everything.” she sighs softly.
“But your pregnancy is considered high risk. Which means you will probably need a wheelchair until you deliver.”
The words settle heavily between us, it was like she didn't hear the part where I told her I could not afford any of this. And now j was supposed to be on a wheel air for months? How was I supposed to survive like this?
A moment later Maya pulls a small piece of paper from her pocket and writes something down before she hands it to me.
“You should call this number when you are discharged,” she says quietly.
8 look down a the small piece of paper she handed me,
“It’s a shelter for vulnerable women,” she explains. “They can help with food, clothes maybe even temporary housing until you get back on your feet.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She nods once before quietly leaving the room.
The moment the door closes, the room is filled with silence.
I slowly sit up despite the pain and I glance down at my leg, It’s wrapped in thick white bandages.
Maybe Maya was exaggerating, I thibk to myself, maybe I could still walk.
Carefully, I reach for the crutches leaning against the wall.
The moment my foot touches the floor, pain explodes through my leg but I grit my teeth and keep moving.
I grab the ultrasound picture and my clothes from the chair.
I make it halfway across the room before my leg finally gives out.
Pain shoots up my body, the crutches slip and everything goes dark.
When I wake up again, I am back in the hospital bed, I lift my head slightly.
“We are glad to have you back, Gesare.”
I turn my head.
The doctor stands beside the bed, flipping through a chart.
“What you did earlier was very dangerous,” he says calmly. “You added some stress to your already broken leg.”
He sighs.
“But nothing we can’t fix.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He glances at me.
“No need to apologize,” he says kindly. “Just don’t try escaping again.”
Then he leaves and the room is silent again.
That’s when I notice him, a tall man standing by the window, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a file.
The sunlight behind him makes it impossible to see his face clearly.
For a moment I wonder if I’m still dreaming, but then he turns slowly and
begins walking toward the bed.
My heart starts beating faster.
He stops beside me and studies me carefully.
His eyes move from my bandaged leg to the ultrasound picture still resting beside my pillow.
“You know,” he says calmly, “running away from a hospital with a broken leg isn’t exactly a brilliant plan.”
I blink at him confused.
“Who are you?” I ask cautiously.
He ignores the question.
“You barely made it ten meters before collapsing in case you were wondering.” he adds and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Well,” I mutter defensively, “I would have made it further if they hadn’t drugged me.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“That’s a bold claim miss.” his eyes go back to the file he was studying, "miss Gesare."
I cross my arms stubbornly.
“You still haven't answered my question.”
His dark eyes meet mine.
“I’m the unfortunate man who hit you with his car last night”
“You!” I gasp.
His eyebrow lifts slightly.
“Yes. Me.”
I stare at him.
Then I look at the machines around me and then back at him.
“So this is your fault,” I say accusingly.
He lets out a small amused breath.
“If it makes you feel better,” he replies dryly, “your hospital bills are already taken care of.”
My eyes widen.
“They are?”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes suspiciously.
“What’s the catch?”
His smile grows slightly.
“There is no catch.”
I stare at him for a long moment.
Then I sigh dramatically.
“Fine.”
“What?”
“If you arepaying the bills,” I say, settling back into the pillow, “then I guess I won’t sue you.”
For the first time, he actually laughs.
And the sound surprises both of us.
Kumba The restaurant is quieter than I expected, there is soft lighting and low music. The kind of place where conversations stay private, where nothing feels rushed, it's perfect, too perfect for the occasion.I needed somewhere quiet where me and Moraa could have a private chat without any distractions and this was perfect. I sit there for a few minutes before she arrives, my fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of water I haven’t touched. From the outside, I probably look calm. Collected. Like this is just another dinner, but it's not really another dinner, nothing about this feels normal.Every word Gesare said is still replaying in my head, word by word as she explained everything that happened to her, everything that Moraa did to her. She pushed me, I don’t know what I’m walking into tonight.But I know one thing, not walking in blind, I hear her before I see her.“Kumba?” I look up and there she is.Moraa smiling, her smile is warm, soft and familiar like nothing happened
MoraaI stare at my phone for a second after the call ends, I just stare.My reflection blurs faintly across the dark screen, but I’m not really seeing myself. I’m replaying his voice, he was calm and sounded normal and unbothered like nothing was wrong at all. Like nothing happened. A slow breath leaves my lips.“I told you,” I say, lowering the phone onto the table.“So?” my mother’s voice cuts in from across the room and I look up.My mom, Kerubo is watching me closely, arms folded, her expression sharp in that way it always is when she’s thinking five steps ahead of everyone else.“So,” I repeat, leaning back slightly, trying to steady the sudden rush of adrenaline in my chest. “He has no idea.”Her brows lift just a fraction. “No idea?”I shake my head. “None. He sounded completely normal. We’re even meeting up for dinner later.”For a second, she doesn’t say anything.Then slowly a small, calculating smile forms on her lips.“It seems,” she says, her voice low and measured, “y
KumbaThe nurse’s voice cuts through everything.“She is awake.”For a second, I don’t move, I just stare at her like I didn’t hear her properly, like my brain needs a second to catch up with what she just said. Then it hits.“She’s awake?” I repeat, already standing.The nurse nods with a small, reassuring smile. “You can go in.”That’s all I need.I don’t even realize how fast I’m moving until I’m already at the door, my hand on the handle, my chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with fear this time.Relief and nervousness.Something else I can’t quite name.I push the door open slowly and there she is, Gesare.Lying in the hospital bed, pale but alive and awake.Her eyes shift toward the door, landing on me, and for a moment, everything else fades out.The machines, the hospital smell, the tension and all of it disappears.Because she’s here, and she is looking at me.“Hey” I say softly, stepping inside, my voice not quite steady yet.Her lips curve slightly, faint but
Kumba.I am still trying to steady everything inside me when there is a soft knock on the door.Before I can respond, it opens and my mother steps in, her eyes go straight to Gesare.And I watch the exact moment as relief washes over her face.“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, her shoulders dropping slightly as she moves closer. “You are awake.”Gesare gives her a small, tired smile. “Hi, Diane.”My mother doesn’t hesitate. She reaches out, gently touching Gesare’s arm like she needs to feel for herself that she is really here, really alive.“You scared me,” she says, her voice softer now, but there is still that underlying tremor of everything she has been holding in.“I am sorry,” Gesare murmurs.“You don’t apologize for something like that,” my mother says quickly, shaking her head. “You just, you get better okay?”I stay quiet for a second, watching them.There is something grounding about seeing my mother like this, so gentle and protective, she has never been like that with any of
Diane. The hospital corridor feels too bright.I sit there, but I don’t feel like I’m sitting. My body is still, but everything inside me is pacing, spiraling, refusing to settle.The smell of antiseptic clings to the air, sharp and cold, and every now and then a nurse passes by, their footsteps echoing in a way that makes the silence feel even heavier.Beside me is my sonKumba, he is restless.He hasn’t sat down properly since we got here. Even now, he is half standing and half leaning against the wall, his hands running through his hair over and over again like he’s trying to undo something that’s already been done and I watch him for a moment. Then the frustration rises again.“You left her alone,” I say, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the silence.He stills slightly.“Mom”“You left her Kumba ,” I repeat, louder this time, the words fueled by fear more than anger, but they come out harsh anyway. “Alone in your house in her condition.”His jaw tightens.“I told you I
Kumba. I don’t remember parking the car or even how I got there.One second I’m pulling into the driveway, my mind already racing from the panic in my mother’s voice, and the next I’m inside the house standing over a pool of blood. Everything after that hits all at once.“Mom!” I call out, my voice sharper than I intend, already moving and that's when I see all the blood. My steps falter for half a second, my chest tightening so violently it almost knocks the air out of me as my eyes follow the trail of the blood and then I finally see her, Gesare just lying there motionless on the floor, her body soaked in her own blood.And something inside me breaks, I have never seen so much blood before. “Gesare” Her name leaves my mouth like a breath I have been holding my entire life as I rush forward, dropping to my knees beside her, this can’t be happening.My hands are already on her before I even think, turning her slightly, searching her face, her neck for anything.“Gesare, hey, hey,
MoraaI knew him Kumba like the back of my hand, and that was the problem.I knew the way Kumba spoke when he was telling the truth calm, measured, almost indifferent.And I knew the way he spoke when he was lying.Too smooth, too quick, like he had already rehearsed it in his head before the quest
Kumba.The moment I saw her, my blood was already boiling, I had been avoiding her for a reason, I didn't want to talk to her and yet there she was, in my house smiling like she hadn't betrayed me.I could feel my jaw tightening as I walked towards her, my steps long and delib
GesareI don’t think I have ever seen a gate argue with someone before, but that’s exactly what it feels like.I’m standing on the balcony, one hand resting lightly against the railing, watching the scene unfold below like it’s some kind of strange performance I wasn’t meant to witness.Moraa stand
Kumba“and if we move the expansion into Q3, we mitigate the risk exposure without sacrificing long term growth.” The words are coming out of my mouth automatically.I have been working on this presentation for weeks now. A dozen eyes are on me investors, board members, people who expect certainty







