“I haven’t told him,” I said after a moment.
Treasure didn’t ask what I meant because she already knew what I meant.
“I haven’t told him about the baby,” I continued. “I have never told him that Kashmere’s child has been under my roof.”
Treasure’s eyes softened, but her voice stayed steady in its gentleness, and I noticed that she was careful with her tone the same way you are careful when you touch something fragile.
“And he is still with you?” she asked. “Preslan is still here?”
“Yes,” I replied.
Treasure took a slow breath. “Abeni, it has been a year.”
I didn’t respond immediately because responding would mean acknowledging time, and time was the enemy in situations like this. Time made things harder to undo. Time made wrong decisions feel permanent, even when they were not.
“I told Kojo I would do the right thing,” I said, almost to myself. “I told him this was temporary. I told him we would find a suitable home. I told him what he needed to hear so he would allow me to handle it quietly.”
Treasure’s voice lowered. “And what did you tell yourself?”
I did not answer right away because that question was the one that haunted me most.
I turned slightly toward the flower beds again. The petals were opening slowly, and I could see how the plant held itself up even when the stem looked too thin. It reminded me of motherhood, how it could make you strong and exposed at the same time.
“Abeni,” Treasure said, “you want to tell me why he is still here?”
I swallowed once. “Because I could not let him go.”
Treasure did not react or judge me with her face. She simply waited.
“I have had losses in my life that no one speaks of,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Losses I learned to bury because I had work to do, and a family to lead, and a public image to maintain. I have miscarried more times than I ever wanted to admit out loud. By the time I carried Pressure to term, I lived in fear for nine months, and once he was born, I told myself I could never risk that pain again.”
Treasure’s expression shifted, not in surprise, because she knew. It shifted in understanding, because she also knew what it meant to love a child until your whole body ached with it.
“And Preslan woke something up in you?” She asked softly.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Holding him has been… unsettling.”
Treasure gave me a small look, almost like she was trying not to smile. “Unsettling is not a word I hear you use often.”
“I am choosing my words carefully,” I replied.
Treasure let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but it held no humor. “That is how I know this is real.”
We reached the area of the yard where the new flowers were growing strongest. The colors were rich and bright, and I watched them for a moment as if they could teach me something. I had built a life off certainty. I had built power off decisiveness. I had never been the kind of woman to sit in confusion, and yet lately that was exactly what I had been doing.
Treasure stopped near one of the beds and looked at me.
“You want to know what I think?” she asked.
I kept my chin lifted. “Tell me.”
“I think you regret taking that baby.”
The statement landed quietly, but it still landed. I felt it in my spirit, and I hated how true it sounded.
I kept my face composed, but my silence answered her.
Treasure’s voice stayed gentle. “I think you have been telling yourself that you kept him because of your losses, and I believe that is a small part of it. I also believe you have been holding on because you know what you did was heavy, and now that time has passed, you cannot pretend it was only justice.”
