“Oh, Zainab.” She crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into the most awkward, careful hug possible given the handcuffs and the babies and the IV and everything else that was attached to me. “I’m so glad you’re okay. We were so worried.”
“I’m okay.” I wasn’t, but the words were automatic at this point. “How long was I out?”
“About fourteen hours. You lost a lot of blood during the delivery. They did a transfusion and kept you sedated so your body could recover.” She pulled back and looked at the twins with wet eyes. “They’re beautiful, Z. Absolutely beautiful.”
“Can you—” I gestured with my chin toward the guard outside. “Can you tell him I need privacy with my attorney?”
Camille straightened up, slid her lawyer mask back on, and stepped to the door. “Officer, I need the room. Attorney-client privilege.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. He stood, moved his chair further down the hall, and Camille closed the door behind him.
When she turned back to me, I didn’t bother with small talk.
“I can’t go back, Camille.” My voice broke on her name. “I can’t go back to that place. Those people left me to die. I was in labor for seven hours screaming and crying and they didn’t send a single nurse, a single doctor, not one person to help me. My cellmate delivered my babies while those COs sat at their station doing NOTHING.”
Camille’s jaw tightened. I could see the fury building behind her eyes, controlled but real. “I know. Prime told me everything he could piece together, and I’ve already been on the phone with the warden, the county health department, and a civil rights attorney. What happened to you was a violation of your constitutional rights. Those COs—Cooper and Jessup—they will face consequences. I promise you that.”
“I don’t care about consequences for them. I care about being with my children.” I looked down at the two faces nestled against my chest. “I need to be their mother, Camille. Not from behind glass. Not through a phone. I need to hold them and feed them and be there when they cry. I can’t do that from a cell.”
“I know. And that’s exactly what we’re going to argue.” She sat in the chair beside my bed and pulled out her phone, scrolling through what looked like a drafted motion. “I’m filing for an emergency bail hearing this morning. Based on what happened—the neglect, the denial of medical care, the fact that you delivered twins in a jail cell without any professional assistance—we have grounds for immediate release on a humanitarian basis alone. No judge in California is going to look at this situation and say ‘yeah, send her back.’ Not with media attention. Not with the liability.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“I think what happened to you is going to be on every news station in the country by tomorrow morning, and the county is going to be scrambling to cover their asses. They’re going to want this to go away quietly, and the fastest way to do that is to grant bail and hope you don’t sue them into oblivion.” She paused. “Which you absolutely should, by the way. But we’ll deal with that later.”
“Camille. I need to tell you something. And I need you to get a message to Prime right now. Not in five minutes. Not after you finish that motion. Right now.”
She set the phone down. “What is it?”
“Mehar—my sister—she’s dating someone. A man named Thad. Prime’s cousin.” I watched Camille’s face, waiting for the recognition. “He’s the one who killed my sister Zahara.”
The room went silent except for the beeping of the heart monitor and the soft breathing of my babies.
Camille stared at me. “What?”
“He’s the one I saw in that alley.”
Camille’s hand had gone to her mouth. Her legal mind was already spinning—I could see it in her eyes, the rapid calculations, the implications branching out like cracks in glass.
“Zainab.” Her voice was measured, but I could hear the tremor underneath. “If Thad killed Zahara, that means you’re not just innocent of the murder charge. We have the identity of the real killer. This changes the entire trajectory of your case.”
“I know.”
“But—” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Why didn’t you say anything before? Why did you wait until NOW?”
“Because it was his word against mine! I had no evidence, no proof. Just me saying I saw a man in an alley five years ago. What jury is going to convict Prime’s cousin based on my testimony alone? Especially when I’m the one on trial for the murder?” I was crying again, the frustration and guilt offive years of silence overflowing. “And I knew if I told Prime, he would kill Thad himself. He wouldn’t wait for a trial. He wouldn’t let the system handle it. He’d just end him. And I wanted—” My voice cracked. “I wanted to be the one. I wanted to look that man in his eyes and make sure he knew why. For Zahara. That was supposed to be MY moment.”
Camille sat back, processing. I could see her running through scenarios, legal strategies, potential pitfalls.
“And now your sister is dating him,” she said quietly.
“And I found out on the phone thirty seconds before I went into labor. I couldn’t warn her. I couldn’t say anything because my body was—” I gestured helplessly at the hospital bed, the babies, all of it. “I fucked everything up, Camille. If I had said something sooner, Mehar would never have gotten close to him. Zahara’s killer would be in jail instead of me. My babies wouldn’t have been born on a prison bunk. This is all my fault. All of it.”
“Hey.” Camille grabbed my hand, the one tethered to the bed. “Stop. This is not your fault. You were a traumatized woman trying to survive, and you made the best decisions you could with the information you had. Nobody gets to judge you for that.”
“But Mehar?—”
“Is going to be okay. Because we’re going to handle this.” She stood up, already in motion. “First things first. Emergency bail hearing. Based on the medical neglect alone, I’m confident we’ll get you out.”
