His Choice Wasn't Me

Sarah stepped out of the hospital, her small bag hanging from her shoulder, her hands trembling as if they were too weak to hold anything. The evening air pressed hot and heavy against her skin.

She paused by the gate, her eyes sweeping through the crowd as she searched for a familiar face.

But she couldn't find any. Not James, not even her son – Daniel.

Not a single call buzzed her phone, not even a short text message: "Mummy, are you okay?" from Daniel. Her thumb hovered over James's name in her contacts, but the courage to press dial deserted her.

She stopped a cab as it pulled up. She forced herself inside, sinking into the back seat.

"Madam, you alright?" the driver asked in polite curiosity, watching her pale reflection in the rearview mirror.

Sarah nodded quickly, pressing her gaze to the window. She let the noise of vendors and honking cars blur past.

But inside the car, silence pressed harder, reminding her how alone she was. She quietly gave the driver her address and drove off.

Tears filled her eyes, dropping on her phone screen till it blurred. She wiped it quickly with the back of her hand. Above her, the clouds gathered fast, the sky turning dark as if heaven itself had bent low to watch her.

A cool breeze swept past, carrying the smell of rain. Then the drops started, gentle at first, before beating down harder, drenching the wheel screen of the cab. The rain kept dropping, coinciding with her tears, as though the heavens had joined in her pain.

By the time the cab stopped at her house, the rain had calmed, her chest throbbed with dread. The house that once promised her joy now looked like a stranger's.

She climbed out slowly, her legs weak from sickness and fear.

The front door gave way to silence in that told nothing of peace, but absence. Then her eyes fell on the dining table.

Plates set. Glasses filled. Three chairs pulled close as though waiting for a family meal.

For a fleeting second, hope flickered. Maybe James and Daniel had planned something for her homecoming. Maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong.

But then Clara, the maid, stepped out from the kitchen, her smile thin and nervous. She fiddled with her apron, avoiding Sarah's eyes.

That silence said everything.

Sarah's chest sank.

Footsteps thundered on the stairs. A small voice cut through the air.

"Daddy!"

Sarah's face softened. Her arms opened wide, tears gathering in her eyes again. She had missed that voice more than anything. She braced herself for her son's embrace.

But Daniel stopped halfway. His smile collapsed when his eyes met hers. His small face hardened, cold in a way no child's should.

"Danny boy," she whispered, forcing a smile. "Come to mummy. I missed you so much."

But he ignored her as he turned sharply to Clara. "When is Auntie Tiana coming back?"

The name struck her chest like a