And if burying Kay’Lo meant my family could breathe again, then that was the only justice left for us.
Eboni Keep in Nzuri Hall
As I held the edge of the wine glass to my lips, I let the sweetness sit there for a moment before swallowing, because the last few weeks felt too heavy to take anything in without pausing first.
Abeni’s enclosed patio was glowing under the soft lamps she had hanging from the ceiling. They gave the whole room a warm gold tint, that made the white cushions look softer and the plants look fuller. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the curtains that framed them were a deep champagne color, pulled back neatly the way she liked everything in her home. Every corner of the room held something beautiful. There was a vase she brought from Italí, a bowl that looked like it was carved from pearl and little things that told the story of a woman who built her life with intention.
Being in her space always made me breathe different, yet tonight my heart still carried the same weight I walked in with.
Abeni sat across from me in her cream silk robe with her hair pinned up and her posture perfect the way it had always been. She held her wine glass lightly, as if the stem came with instructions on elegance only she could read. And she watched me with those eyes that always saw straight through me.
“You’re thinking too much,” she said softly.
I let out a breath and lowered my glass. “How could I not?”
She gave me a small smile. “Treasure, you have always carried your child with your entire soul. It is who you are, but do not confuse loving deeply with failing.”
I looked down at my lap and rubbed my thumb across the side of my glass. “It feels like I did though. Somewhere along the way, I missed something. Maybe I didn’t pay close enough attention to what Kay’Lo needed. Maybe I let Kwame lead too much. Maybe?—”
“Maybe nothing,” she interrupted gently. “You mothered Kay’Lo with more tenderness than most people ever experience a day in their lives.”
Her voice was warm, thoughtful, but strong enough to touch the parts of me I tried to hide.
I swallowed hard. “Abeni… my son is sitting in a jail cell right now. And I’m sitting here drinking wine. What kind of mother?—”
“The only kind of mother you have ever been,” she said, her tone firm but loving. “Present, involved and protective. You have never abandoned him, and you are not abandoning him now.”
I closed my eyes for a second because hearing it out loud hurt more than keeping it inside.
From the moment Kay’Lo was placed in my arms, I knew he was different. He came into the world quiet, not even crying at first, just looking up at me with those intense eyes like he was already studying everything around him. The doctor kepttapping his back, waiting on that newborn wail, but I knew he was fine. He was just… him.
He grew into himself the same way. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it meant something. When he loved, he loved with his whole heart. When he felt something deeply, he didn’t hide it. And when something set him off, he reacted without thinking about the consequences. Even then, I didn’t see a dangerous boy. I saw a child who didn’t know what to do with such a powerful spirit.
I tried to show him softness. I tried to teach him patience, to teach him how to breathe through the anger and not let it carry him away. But Kwame… Kwame believed boys needed hardness to survive. He said we couldn’t soften our son too much because the world wouldn’t meet him that way.
I trusted him. I trusted the man who led our family. I trusted him to guide Kay’Lo in the ways I couldn’t. Now here we were... our son in jail, his diagnosis buried and his anger grown into something none of us could ignore anymore.
“I should’ve done more,” I whispered.
“No,” Abeni replied instantly. “Do not say that.”
I shook my head slowly. “He was fighting boys at eleven and twelve and putting them in hospitals. He was breaking furniture in the house whenever he got overwhelmed. He used to sit on the floor of his room for hours just staring at the wall, and when I’d go in to check on him, he would tell me he felt like something was crawling inside his head, and I didn’t push hard enough. I didn’t force Kwame to listen.”
“You were being a mother,” Abeni said. “And you were doing it alone in the ways that mattered.”
I looked up sharply. “Kwame is not a bad father.”
“I didn’t say he was,” she answered calmly. “I said you mothered alone in the ways that mattered. There is a difference.”
I let her words settle, because she wasn’t wrong. Kwame loved Kay’Lo fiercely, but he believed that protecting our child meant toughening him. He believed image was everything, and flaws were luxuries powerful families couldn’t afford.
“He should’ve told me,” I whispered. “He changed our son’s diagnosis without even speaking to me. He erased something important… and then acted like it didn’t matter as if it would change the way Kay’Lo sees the world or the way the world sees him.”
Abeni crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat, her expression thoughtful but controlled. “Kwame has always believed in handling problems before they become visible. He thinks revealing too much gives the world power.”
“That’s exactly it,” I said. “He acted like hiding it was protecting him, but how can we help Kay’Lo if we pretend he doesn’t need help? At least if he was going to hide his diagnosis publicly, we could’ve gotten him help privately.”
Abeni gave a quiet hum and lifted her glass, taking a slow sip before speaking. “Kwame is the same man he was when you met him. You cannot expect a man to stop being exactly who he is. Especially a Mensah man.”
