Leonardo

Since last week, Amara's jovial mood had gone for a toss. She didn't crack stupid jokes and neither appeared to be enthusiastic about my treatment and physiotherapy.

Something bothered her. Gnawing her from the inside, I could see the invisible hold on her problems taking her hostage and chaining her to a place beyond escape.

Amara's life was filled with struggles. Born in a Muslim conservatory family and married off at a young age, her folks ostracized her when she decided to join the Army as a nurse.

She was a fighter who made the most of the situation without letting her problem bog her down. A sudden deviation from her cheerful persona hinted towards the only possibility - her son.

Something must have happened to him. Something so grave which made laser-focused Amara distracted.

"You can tell me if you want to leave early today?" I said to Amara while finishing my daily physiotherapy regime. "I can manage things on my own."

She sat in a corner, biting her cuticles and gazing into the unknown. Though her ears registered my words, her mind didn't process it till I cleared my throat to gain her attention.

"I'm fine. I'll drive you home."

"Alright."

I moved away from the exercise equipment to grab a fresh set of attire from my gym bag. A long hot shower unknotted my tightened muscles, releasing me of pain. The steam balmed the clawing sensation I felt underneath my skin every time I tried walking without the crutches.

When I returned, Amara sat in the same position I left her in. Her fingers fidgeted, and her legs bobbed with the heels of her feet digging into the carpeted floor of the gym.

"Amara, what I meant earlier wasn't me asking you to drive."

"Then what?"

"I mean this..." Pointing at her while I arranged my sweaty clothes in my gym bag, I sat on a chair. "Your mind is somewhere else. Take a break."

She dragged the chair from where she sat and neatly stacked it in the row of chairs before walking towards me. Her eyes were trained on me, but her focus was on my leg.

Though I was better acquainted with my prosthetic limb, I still had a long way to go. Tasks that involved kneeling and balancing on one foot still needed mastering.

That's where Amara came in handy. She had a degree in physiotherapy along with some other courses. Coupled with her nursing experience, and her expertise in training injured veterans, she helped me fit into my new life.

As much as my Mom and I were blessed to have Amara who volunteered to help, I knew one day would come when she would have to leave all of us behind and move on with her life. And her job.

I knew that day had arrived when I saw her hiding letters in her bag than reading them aloud like in our initial days in Miami while trying to irk me.

It was time to let her go.

"Amara, I know that you are called back into service. You are not contractually bound to me or my mother. So, please don't stop your life for us."

She didn't speak. Walking beside me in silence, she sighed a couple of times as if contemplating my proposition. We got in my car and drove home.

As usual, Mom was at my apartment, experimenting in the kitchen. Her latest discovery was an Acacia Bowl. I was force-fed daily. I was told it was healthier.

The usual interaction between Mom and Amara - where they gabbed about some new cuisine or celebrity gossip when we returned from the gym - didn't occur today.

Amara walked into the guest room and shut the door, leaving us staring at the closed door. It was unlike her to not talk, much less not even acknowledge what my mother whipped up for breakfast.

"You said something hurtful to her again, didn't you?" Mom blamed me. She pushed a glass of green concoction and something else that appeared like a scrambled egg but wasn't. "Amara is never this grumpy."

"Maybe your food experiments finally did the trick to shut her up."

"My food is the tastiest, Leo. You'd know if you eat more than a few morsels."

"Mom, I say this with love but you tend to go overboard when you cook. Not everyone loves your vegan eggs."

"It's healthy."

"For whom? Me or the Vegan Chicken?"

Before she could protest, the door to Amara's room creaked open. She entered the kitchen, taking a long deep breath before tossing torn envelopes on the counter.

Her flushed face, watery eyes and flaring nostrils conveyed her state of being.

"Read it," Amara said, pushing the letters towards us. "This is what's bothering me."

Divorce documents, custody papers and some court orders lay open in front of us.

Amara Safi and Rashid Majal's marriage was now headed towards dissolution. Those documents appeared to have been crumpled once before being smoothened. The crease lines dug deeper on the documents marked as child custody as if she read and re-read them a thousand times.

Mom and I glanced at each other as we continued reading.

"My husband..." Amara cleared her throat." Actually, my ex-husband wants the sole custody of my son."

Her incomprehensible flat tone hit my ears. Zemira's voice carried that dullness when we spoke at Debby's gathering. It was the same tone in which my mother talked since I returned.

The voice of those defeated by life. And I was the reason for it.

"I don't want anything from Rashid." Amara's said, wiping her crumpled face. "I told him that I was ready to give him anything. I've savings and my father left me some properties." Her breath staggered. "But Rashid...he... he's going after my son. My only so..."

Her knees buckled.

Crashing on the floor, the realization of losing her son hit her harder. Mom sprang from her side and rushed towards her.

She held her sides, cementing Amara's body over hers. "We'll get through this..."

I found it difficult to kneel at Mom's level, so I helplessly dragged a chair and sat near them.

"You won't lose him, Amara," Mom said, wiping her sweaty face and blowing air to fan away newly formed sweat beads.

Even with the air conditioning working at full blast, the air around us felt warm. Laden with troubled thoughts and anxiousness, it loomed over both for whom their son meant the world.

"I don't know what he plans on doing." Amara gasped for air. "But I came to know that he has employed the best of divorce attorneys. I can't even afford to have a decent one."

"You know he can't get sole custody," I said, trying to grasp from the documents how her husband tried talking her son away. When the documents couldn't answer, I looked up at her. "For sole custody, it needs to be proved that you are an incompetent mother. Which you aren't."

Amara and my mother shared a look which only meant one thing. Another truth was being hidden.

From experience, I knew better than to ask. So, I deployed a newer technique - one which was sure to yield results. But also inflict pain.

"By all means, continue hiding things from me, Amara. Just remember that it's Faizal at stake."

"There was an article in the paper." Amara sprang from her position, slipping from my mother's hold. "I've not told you about it because-"

Mom clutched her elbow but something about pressing where it hurt Amara did the trick. My mother knew she couldn't control Amara from revealing the truth so she hung her head while my nurse grabbed another brown envelope, hidden beneath other documents.

"There's an article about you, Leo." She pulled out the newspaper. "We think your father got someone to write it... I've become the collateral in the story."

My sight landed on the newspaper article. The heading in bold danced at my sight.

FALLEN SOLDIER OR MURDERER

The article went on length about how my command was considered as my mistake, how the loss of four members of my squad was correctly blamed on me and how my present condition (according to the reporter) served me right.

Since gossip brought more publicity than the truth, it went on about my illicit relationship with Amara and how we've been hiding from the world.

Mom grabbed the paper from my hand and tossed it away. Her tear-streaked face looked at me as she tried holding onto my shoulders for support.

"Your father did it... As soon as I came to know of this article, I warned that I'll cut ties with him if he doesn't stop."

"You are divorcing him, Mom?" I asked, surprised at her determination.

Her sideways nod conveyed the truth. My mother's booming business helped my father's business and launched it into fame. She used threats as a means to get the upper hand.

The threat of selling her forty per cent shares would create a dent so big in Brenton Media's financials, it could topple Dave Brenton from his position.

In their tumultuous marriage of twenty years, my mother rarely used that trump card. Dave Brenton never dared to call her bluff.

Perfect marriage, right?

I moved towards the stairs leading up to the terrace. My mother followed behind. I needed some fresh air to invigorate me. I needed a change of environment, even if it was the open space of my roof.

"Your father won't hurt you anymore," Mom said as she crossed the threshold of the terrace. Determination strengthened her voice. "I'll make sure of it."

"You, of all people, should know that Dave Brenton will never stop. So how long do you think I'll have to stay hidden?"

She didn't have an answer to my question.

Truth be told, it wasn't a question. It was an accusation. In a fucked-up way, accusing my mother of her state of helplessness or hurting Amara with her harsh reality gave me a sense of relief.

Whoever said hurt people would hurt others to feel a semblance of normalcy was true. Seeing their pain and their suffering calmed my anger.

"We both know what needs to be done," I said, cupping her mascara-drenched face to look up at me. "I came back for you. You wanted to see me recover and I have. But now it's time."

Her head bobbed as she wiped her face, stretching it to the sides. The elasticity of happiness around her skin and her smile had snapped.

"Where will you go?"

"I have a couple of places in mind. Let me see what works out."

"And what will we do about Amara?" Looking away, she shut her eyes as if whatever she would say next would hurt her more. "Her ex is using her resignation and her stay with you to tarnish her image."

"I'll do everything I can to get her son back. She has sacrificed a lot already."

As always, I was escaping. This time, though, I was running away from my troubles but taking up someone else's. After everything Amara had done for me, it was the least I could do for her.

We sat on the terrace, watching the orange-hued skies marry the darkness of the evening. The humid air and the distant sea breeze revived our senses. Our silent surroundings played peculiar music that only the most injured of souls could hear.

My mother and I could.

"Will you come back for a few days... sometime?" Mom asked. "Or will this be the last time you'll step foot in Miami?"

Her hand hovered over my side as I descended the stairs curving towards the inner side of the hall.

"I will return for your birthday. I promise. In the meantime, you can come to visit me."

"It's not supposed to be like this, Leo." The corners of her eyes misted, darkening the hollows beneath them. "It was never supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be happy together. Not apart."

When I left for my mission, I had taken account of everything that could happen including death. I had calculated a life wherein I might be injured too. I never fathomed this - running from my family and seeking asylum in the arms of strangers.

Since Antonio's reputation hung by a thread after I helped Zemira, my father directed his anger at me. Dave Brenton hated being defeated, much less at the hands of his son.

Descending from the last stair, we walked towards Amara.

Hopelessness danced in her brown-hued pupils, vanishing behind a fake smile. She wasn't strong to face what my father had planned.

"I'll book your tickets, Amara. You can be with your son before the divorce proceedings begin," I said. "I'll come as your character witness. I'm sure the court would gladly take a veteran's words over your deadbeat husband."

Amara's lower lip trembled. She clasped her palms together as if trying to hold on to the foundations of her will, and sobbed.

Her silent laments echoed inside the four walls of my apartment. I gripped her sides to break her fall.

Teary-eyed, she looked at me. "Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

I wanted to.

"I don't know. Every time I look at you, I feel like I have a sister." Amara coiled her arms around me. "By that, I mean that you're annoying."

She chuckled.

"Seriously, I mean it. You are like the worst sister anyone could ever have."

"I'll gladly take that compliment," she spoke into my collarbone. "Of being your worst sister."

Something was soothing about Amara's hug. The way she cared and worried for me had me believe I could heal faster. At least the wounds on my skin could.

When Mom enveloped her arms around us, suffocating Amara and me underneath her strong grip, the similarities between them cleared in my mind.

They both loved unconditionally. They cared just the same.

~

And I hope this chapter gives you a little more reality check of why Leo is acting like this now...

Hurt people hurt others...

At least till they begin healing.