"Sanaa!" a deep voice called out as I pushed myself up from the mat after yet another defeat. I groaned, adjusting my gi before turning toward the newcomers. My gaze first settled on my mentor before drifting to the boy standing beside him. He looked about my age, maybe a year older. Thirteen, I guessed.
"Who's that?" I asked, crossing my arms as I studied the boy who was staring at me with green eyes. Our gazes met before he looked away, uncomfortable.
"This is Ryler. Ryler, this is Sanaa," my mentor introduced, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. "From today on, you will train together and eventually become partners." I stepped back, lifting my gaze to him, displeased.
"I don't need a partner," I snapped, irritated. "It would only slow me down." My mentor watched me for a moment before signaling to my coach to show Ryler the locker room so he could change. Ryler followed him, and I watched him with a dark glare. He looked like a complete idiot.
"Sanaa," my mentor sighed. I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You need to learn teamwork, kid. You're going to need it," he continued, crossing his arms, mirroring my stance.
"I don't need anyone," I insisted, looking away, refusing to accept the situation he was forcing on me.
"You'll need someone you can trust in the field, Sanaa. Someone you can rely on," he explained, tilting his head slightly as I pressed my lips together. He knelt in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "A good partner will be your lifeline, Sanaa. He'll reach out to you in your worst moments."
I said nothing, staying on the defensive as Ryler and Yale, my coach, reappeared in the gym. Ryler had changed and was now wearing the same gi as me. He stepped onto the mat, looking at me hesitantly. I sighed before extending my hand toward him, bored. His gaze dropped to my hand before lifting back to mine, suspicious. Not so stupid after all.
He finally grabbed my hand and in the next second, he went flying over my shoulder, hitting the ground hard. He blinked up at me, stunned, while a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
I woke with a groan as Elio's cries echoed through the apartment. I shoved the blanket aside and got up for the third time that night, heading to his room. I switched on the light and pressed my lips together when I saw him standing in his crib, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Mama… mama…" he cried, reaching his arms out to me, calling for his mother. I walked over to him and… didn't know what to do. Pick him up? And then what? I wasn't his mother. I wasn't the one he wanted. But he wouldn't stop crying. It had been two days since I had decided to keep Elio, and I was already starting to doubt my decision. I knew nothing about raising a baby, especially one who had just lost his mother.
"Mama isn't coming, Elio. You need to sleep," I told him as I approached. I bent down to grab the blanket he had thrown onto the floor. "Come on, lie down." He refused, screaming and hitting the bars of the crib again and again. Suddenly, the front doorbell rang and I froze, turning toward the hallway. It was past four in the morning. The neighbors were probably here to complain. It had been going on for more than a week now, since Alma died and I had no idea what to do.
"Nana…" Elio called. I finally picked him up, and he wrapped his arms around my neck, hiccupping. Then I walked toward the door, trying to think of what I could possibly say. How should I react? Aggressively? Did I even know any other way? I opened the door, ready to face angry neighbors but stopped when I saw it was only my neighbor from across the hall.
Mrs. Taylor was an elderly woman, nearly eighty from what I knew. She lived with her granddaughter after her daughter and son-in-law had died. I had spoken to her a few times, but nothing more.
"Sanaa, is everything alright?" she asked worried, adjusting the small cardigan on her shoulders. She was wearing a robe and pink slippers. My gaze met hers, lined with wrinkles, warm and my throat tightened. It was the first time someone had asked me how I was since Alma died. The first time someone had asked me… sincerely.
"I… I don't know," I finally admitted, licking my lips as Elio continued to sob against my shoulder. "I don't know what to do," I added in a weak voice. I suddenly felt so exhausted, from the sleepless nights because of Elio's crying, but also from my nightmares that kept haunting me. From the loneliness since Alma had been gone.
"Oh, sweetheart," Mrs. Taylor murmured gently as she stepped into the apartment. I moved back, sniffling, as she closed the door behind her. She walked toward Elio's room, and I followed her like a little girl. She turned off the light before switching on the night lamp on the dresser, bathing the room in a soft glow.
"Put him down," she instructed, gesturing toward the crib. I obeyed, despite Elio's cries growing louder.
"Now gently pat his back, while making it clear you won't pick him up," she added. I sat down in the armchair beside the crib and began softly patting Elio's back, laying him down each time he tried to sit up again. He kept crying for a while before clutching his blanket, sobbing.
"While you were working with little Alma we spent a lot of time together. She was just as lost as you are," Mrs. Taylor said softly from the other side of the crib. I looked at her.
"As lost as me?" I repeated, blinking in confusion. "She seemed so sure of everything she did."
"Oh no, sweetheart. She was so stressed before giving birth that we spent our days together so she could prepare," she said with a gentle smile, brushing Elio's head with her fingertips.
He was starting to fall asleep, his little body still shaking with hiccups. I never would have imagined that. She had seemed so calm during her pregnancy and delivery. She had shown me nothing. She hadn't wanted to worry me, as always. She had felt powerless, just as I felt now. She had felt alone facing something entirely new, no matter how much I had tried to be there for her. My gaze fell on Elio, and my heart tightened when I saw the tear tracks on his cheeks. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, my throat tight and suddenly, everything broke.
I started crying, my nose buried against his small neck, his baby scent filling my lungs. I pulled back, gripping the bars of the crib as my knees hit the floor. I began to sob, my forehead resting against the rails as my chest tightened. I cried until my lungs burned. It hurt. God, it hurt so much. More than any wound I had ever endured.
"Oh, my child…" Mrs. Taylor whispered as she came to me, rubbing my back while my body shook. "Everything will be alright. Everything will be alright," she repeated again and again, as the cold of my loneliness made me tremble.
Always that damn cold.