NAINA
They say there are five stages of grief.
There’s denial—when he left me, I denied that the embryo growing in me was Marshall Ames Beckett’s daughter. I denied it for weeks—weeks filled with morning sickness, and cravings for spray cheese.
There’s anger. I was angry. Angry at the world, angry at this CEO who told me he wanted to marry me and have a family with me, and I lashed out, my vexation rearing its ugly head at the worst times possible. I told Marshall I hated him, his company, his big, lavish condo, and his dog Murphy. All for no reason other than to feel this stage of grief, to let it pass.
Then came the bargaining. I bargained with myself. Grappling, staring in the mirror telling myself that perhaps an abortion is the answer. Maybe I could give her up for adoption. But addressing each option made my heart ache more and more.
Depression. A month of skipping most days at work, skipping classes at Columbia Law, skipping workouts and doctors appointments, because getting out of bed seemed like the worst possible punishment.
Acceptance. He’s gone. And I am left with the biggest blessing I couldn’t possibly see coming at the fertile age of 23.
But in this realm of grief, I believe there exists one more stage that people often choose not to recognize. It is forgiveness.
It takes time to forgive, but sitting there, looking into my daughters big blue sparkling eyes, and hearing her little giggle, watching her kick her feet. I almost forgive him.
MARSHALL
At half past noon, I am standing in my office, when Naina peers around the opening glass door.
With a light knock upon the crystal clear glass, she says “knock knock” with that fucking charming smile of hers.
She walks in wearing a high-neck floral blouse, and slacks with slits in the front of the legs. She dressed like this before she was a mum. She never changed. Never a spot of vomit on her top, never a hair out of place on her little head. She was perfect—she is perfect.
Dear God, I’ve already been through those five stages of grief I’ve read about. Why does it feel like I’m going through them again every time I see her? All those self-help books have brought me nothing but destruction, I swear it.
“Naina,” I speak softly, adjusting my watch anxiously as I take a cautious step toward her. The office seems so much larger than it is right now, and is it warm? It can’t be—the air con is always on. “And there’s my little munchkin,” I peer down.
In her hands she’s holding a blue baby carrier, a blanket in it decorated with little yellow ducks, covering the being that is my daughter, my flesh and blood. She’s made from my genetics, and yet, I feel almost no connection to this child.
With a stone cold stare, Naina looks at me. “Not yours, never will be yours.” No remorse. Never a dull moment with this one, I thought. But she had made a good point; I haven’t been a father to this child…
I watch with a clenched jaw, as Naina sets the carrier down and looks at me.
NAINA
In his office, the sun beams behind him, lighting him like an angel coming to me upon my death. His face, in awe as I put the baby down, is one I will never forget of course.
“Marshall, we discussed child support but I haven’t seen a single cent. Pray tell, where has it gone?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.
I watched him put his palms on the desk, his back muscles flexing as they always do. He was a strong man, and we both knew it.
He sighed “Look Naina, I just…” he looked at me with sorrow in his eyes, then lifted himself from the desk, as though it took all the effort in the world. He looked down at the carrier.
I watched as he put his hands in his pockets, and began to stare down at his shoes.
He sighed again then reached for the pen in the ink pot, scribbling something down on a small piece of paper—this was before I realized it was a check. He handed it to me, then brushed past me, disappearing into the halls of the glass office building that I swore I would never become familiar with.
MARSHALL
I was in static shock. Seeing Naina energized me, confused me, left me flabbergasted all at once. I dipped into the hall after handing her the check for 40,000, more than she ever could have expected, but I knew it was enough to cover expenses for school, food, essentials, I mean, and I felt I needed to provide that. I owe it to her, don’t I?
I don’t know if it was better or worse for me to do that, because my heart tells me I want to see her again, but with that amount, it’s likely I won’t see her anytime soon.
I wandered the halls. Fuck. I wish I stayed in the room, but at the same time, I couldn’t bear being in a room with her. I hated myself for leaving her, loved myself for starting a business of my own and owning a whole building, coming so far, and yet I felt so alone and lost.
I put everything above her because I thought she would be there no matter what.
She was the guard of my heart at the time; she kept me safe from harm, she kept me happy, shielded from pain. I took her for granted.
She stood up for me in front of everyone, in front of her parents, risked everything for me. God, I let her betray her faith for me, and I left her? What was wrong with me? I should thank her if I never cross paths with her again, she doesn’t deserve to be hurt by me another second. And the baby? The baby is hers, her father has broken her heart in more ways than one, and we hadn’t even spent more than a day together.
Mindlessly and glumly, I stepped into the elevator.
NAINA
I looked down at the check. Then down at my baby girl. It wasn’t what i expected, but I had to admit, having the child of a CEO was one of my greatest accomplishments.
But that was besides the point. My heart would never be mended by any amount of money he could provide for me. Anyway, I had multiple essays to write so it was no use questioning it, seeing as Marshall had already left the room.
I looked at Asma in her carrier. I smiled, a melancholy smile, but a smile nonetheless. She was my blessing, now and forever more. I thank God everyday for her, and her existence.
I picked her up, and headed out of the office, turning down the hall for the elevators, the only place I knew how to get to in this confusingly designed building besides Marshall’s office.
Part of me wondered if he had a lover now. If his work was fulfilling him. What did he spend his time doing when he had it? Was he writing love letters, and reading books of law to another?
I pushed the thought away, shaking my head.
It didn’t matter what he was doing.
MARSHALL
Out in the cold air of New York, I could take a deep breath and feel some sort of solace in the open space.
I missed Naina. I missed lying on her couch and watching her with loving eyes, as she typed away in the dark, her eyes squinting beneath her glasses. I missed the scent of her hair—some sort of shea butter—as I held her close to my chest. I missed her laugh. I missed Naina.
I walked toward central park, the fall foliage a violent array of orange, yellow, and red, burning in my peripheral with a wash of colour. Along the way, I spotted couples, young and old, holding hands, kissing each other. This walk that was meant to save me, was pissing me off a lot more.
I wanted her back, I knew I did. I just didn’t care to admit it. Maybe if I did I would have a chance.
I believed, at least for part of the time, that she was the love of my life. But the prospect of marriage wasn’t one I was prepared for, so I focused on my business, came farther than I ever thought I would. Perhaps, I had lost the love of my life in the process.
And it wasn’t worth it, I daresay. My heart ached. No matter how much money was involved, how many connections I made, there was one thing I wanted and that was her. I wanted to be with her.
As I walked aimlessly, I wondered if it was too late to confess my love for her. If it was past the window of opportunity.
NAINA
I stopped at the bank to deposit the check. Upon reaching my home, I put Asma to bed in her crib, in my bedroom, then I went to wash up for prayer, leaving the bedroom door open just in case she startled awake.
As soon as I finished Asr and sat down to write my essay on the nuances of criminal law, I heard the alarmed cry of my daughter Asma.
I pushed myself off the chair, disgruntled. She was the love of my life and the bane of my existence at times.
I held her tight to my chest and rocked her, to keep her from crying. She was swaddled up in a cozy Winnie the Pooh blanket, courtesy of her grandmother in law, who occasionally sent gifts to the house. It was kind of her to do so, but the fact that Marshall had left me and not the other way around made me think that it was more due to a feeling of pity, than a feeling of admiration.
Eventually Asma’s cries died down and she fell back into a slumber in my arms. I knew if I put her down, she’d immediately start crying again. Babies confused me. In a way they were like men—not communicative at most times, confusing, stressful, brain-eating little things. Maybe not all men, but Marshall for sure.
I brought her out to the living room, where I sat down again at the computer, and began typing, one hand holding her against my chest, the other on the keyboard, typing what I could.
Seeing Marshall today made me wonder how different the world could be if Asma had two parents present. The load would be a lot less heavy, as I knew Marshall went home at approximately 4:15 PM each day, with nothing more to do at the office than stand in his pointed shoes and tucked in buttoned up, pressed, steamed shirt. He would hold Asma, rocking her, as I did my work, wouldn’t he? He was perfect, yes, in many ways. But his ill preparedness, the fact that he deserted me, made his imperfections unravel like a thread, made questions arise about his fitness to be a parent and husband.
MARSHALL
At around 4:30 PM, I packed up to go home, back to my penthouse apartment in the West side of town.
I thought of Naina, taking the train to the East side of town where she lived in her one bedroom apartment.
I thought of her, clutching her daughter—hers, not mine, not ours—to her chest, while studying, because that’s what she does. She had the capability to balance all these things, and to express what she wanted, but I could never meet those expectations, could I?
Her brief appearance in my life had changed my world, and she knew it too. But I had other things going for me, I always do, and she knew it too.
I feel that I’ve made a grave escape in letting her go, in letting the rest of my world take over. Maybe I should have tried harder to keep her. Perhaps I should’ve listened more, understood more, prayed more. Perhaps, I had lost the most amazing part of existence… I had lost true love.
The truth was she was my world. My everything. I just completely disregarded her pure love for me.
I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed a deep sigh. I don’t question my choices often, but letting her go was something I deeply regretted — even when i tried to convince myself it was for the better.
What was I doing? I could speak to her. “I needed her,” I thought to myself. So why was I moping? Why was this what I chose to do instead of asking her to be mine? Instead of correcting my wrongs?
NAINA
Morning came sooner than I expected, the sun beginning to rise in my window without warning. It was another day, a new one.
I yawned as I reached over to touch Asma’s cheek. Her eyes were her father’s. So was her nose. But she was mine—the love I always yearned for. She was my baby. I didn’t need anything else, as long as I woke up and saw her. She brought a twinkle to my eye, a smile to my face. She was the brightness I needed after a period of darkness so inescapable in my life.
A warmth deep within me breached outward, as if bringing me into a hug. She was my everything.
I began to get up, to move toward the prayer mat for Fajr when suddenly I heard a knock upon my front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not just before the sun had risen all the way.
I got up to check who it was and as I peered through the peephole, it was a shot to my already broken heart that I saw him.
MARSHALL
“Naina?” I said to the closed door.
“Naina, please, if you’re home, can we talk?”
I stood at the door, my palms sweating excessively. I bought a ring—a stupid decision, I cursed at myself after I stepped out of the shop, but I was serious, I needed to show her I was serious. That couldn’t be done through a phone call. To show her I needed her, to show her I loved her, to prove that, I had to show up. So here I was, heart in hand.
However, she still hadn’t opened the door.
“Naina, please,” I whispered to the closed door. The empty expanse of the hallway seemed to elongate the distance that was between us. I knew she was right behind the door, I knew it—I knew her.
Just then, I heard her soft voice, almost a whimper, say my name.
“Marshall…,” she said. My ears perked, my eyes lit up.
“Naina, please can we talk,” I bent down to pick up the flowers I couldn’t hold anymore due to the sweat on my palms.
Hearing her voice was what I needed. Feeling her touch. Her warmth. I wanted those things, and I wanted them all to myself.
I heard the turn of the lock, and I met eyes with her. I wanted to reach down, to put my arms around her, pick her up, slip the ring on her finger, and take her to her twin bed and make passionate love to her, I wanted her and nothing else and I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it. I restrained myself from doing so, and took in a sharp inhale, pushing the flowers out toward her.
NAINA
“Marshall…,” I said. I looked him up and down. He appeared slightly disheveled, pushing out a somewhat compressed bouquet of flowers toward me.
I smiled and nodded in thanks, reaching for them, then opening the door wider, inviting the apparition of my past into my home. He didn’t look how I remembered, I didn’t feel the same excitement opening the door to him anymore. I missed him, but it wasn’t this Marshall I missed. This was a colder, more business-oriented version of him, the one that had left me stranded.
Thoughts were racing in my mind. What was he doing here, what was the point of his abrupt entrance? I struggled to restrain myself from asking questions because I was certain it wouldn’t get me any answers.
He walked in, his demeanor apparently nervous.
“Asma is asleep… I can make you some tea and you can see her when she wakes up if you would like,” I fiddled with the end of my scarf as I said this, not realizing how nerve wracking this was for me as well.
“Thank you Naina, but I actually came to talk to you.” he said looking down at me. His tall stature made me feel smaller than usual.
I gestured for him to sit. “Of course, we can talk.” I assumed he wanted to claim his daughter in some way, but perhaps I was wrong. And I let him in so easily, just like I had in the past. Why did I do this to myself?
He shook his head, and did not move to sit.
Instead, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small, pale purple, velvet box. I audibly gasped, my breath catching in my throat.
MARSHALL
“Naina, I’ve made too many mistakes and that is why I’m here now,” I bent down at this point, getting on one knee, not that she ever expected me to propose like this.
I would’ve preferred to do something far grander, but this spur of the moment decision was something I needed to settle for, because the truth is, when I realized I needed her, I couldn’t wait a second longer. I had already lost her once.
“Naina, I shouldn’t have let you go. I should’ve been there when you had Asma. There’s a lot of things I should and shouldn’t have done. But I don’t want to regret anything anymore. I love you, I loved you from the moment I met you, I always have, and I always will, so let me ask you this,” I opened the ring box to reveal an emerald cut 2 karat diamond, set on a gold band, the one she’d always pointed out, the one she would be excited to wear everyday. The perfect ring.
“Will you marry me?” I said into the air.
NAINA
I was astonished. The world was moving so quickly, spinning around, it was something else, something I didn’t expect, and yet here I was.
But Marshall. Marshall wasn’t my priority anymore. Once I recognized that I wasn’t his priority, I began to shy away from the effort in our relationship, to the point where it dwindled down to me picking up checks from his office for the sake of my daughter.
I still loved him. Part of me always would. But he wasn’t mine. He would never be mine. He had far too many other things to focus on that I could never compete with. He would never be the one to console me, to save me, to love me the way that I needed. Maybe he could do it this time, but I couldn’t risk that chance. I had that in a person already, and it was my daughter, not Marshall.
I reached for his hands and pulled him up.
“Marshall, I love you. You know that to be true.” I looked at him with pain in my eyes. “But you will never have the love for me that I have for you.” I said quietly.
The air was still then, and he looked at me with sadness filling his eyes, he turned.
“I’m sorry Naina,” he said, dropping the ring, and reaching for me to pull me into a hug.
I let him hug me, but I couldn’t hug him back. It would hurt me too much. He wasn’t mine. He would never be mine.
“I’m sorry Marshall.” I said into his chest.
I couldn’t help it, and soon I was wrapping my arms around him, a familiar feeling of comfort washing over me.
We stood there, both of us, tears welling up in our eyes. We weren’t each others. But we had this moment. We could appreciate this moment.
“Forgive me Naina,” he said wiping his eyes. “Forgive me please,” he said weeping.
This was the sixth stage of grief. It had come to a close. I could move forward after this.
“I forgive you Marshall.” I said to his chest. But I would never forget; his heart and hands, they were never open for me. I would forgive him—I had forgiven him. But I would never be his.
My heart belonged to my daughter now.
