Masina
The front door closed behind Kade, Yayo, and Cassian, leaving an almost eerie quiet in it's wake. The house which had been filled with shouting, crying, hurried footsteps and a nurse coming and going just moments earlier, exhaled. Upstairs, my grandchildren were finally asleep in their mother’s arms, as Ysis began her first chapter of motherhood with the kind of peace she’d spent an entire lifetime searching for.
I stood at the bottom of the staircase, before slowly turning toward the foyer.
The moment my eyes landed on Yuki, I understood why something in my spirit had refused to settle since she crossed the threshold.
Some people carried peace into a room. Others carried storms. No matter how beautiful she still looked, no matter how expensive the clothes draped across her body or how carefully she held herself together, there had always been a hurricane walking just beneath her skin.
Yuki’s eyes drifted past me toward the staircase, lingering there as though she could somehow see through the ceiling to the room where Ysis lay with her babies.
When she finally spoke, there wasn’t any of the arrogance she’d worn the last time we’d stood face-to-face.
Her voice was softer now, almost careful, but after everything we’d lived through, careful didn’t move me.
“I’m just here to see my daughter and grandchildren.”
I studied her a moment before answering. Thirty years ago that sentence probably would’ve softened me. Thirty years ago I would’ve stepped aside without a second thought because the woman standing in front of me had been my sister long before either of us ever became somebody’s mother.
That woman no longer existed. She’d disappeared after betrayal, lies, and choices that destroyed far more lives than her own.
“No.”
“No?” Confusion flickered across her face before hardening into disbelief.
“You heard me. The last thing my daughter needs after bringing two babies into this world is another storm walking through her front door.”
“They’re my family, Masina.”
“They’re mine too,” I responded, never taking my eyes off her. “The difference is I didn’t have to betray them to earn my place.”
Silence stretched between us. Thirty years of memories stood in the space separating us.
I didn’t just see the woman standing in front of me.
I saw the eighteen-year-old girl who used to steal my sweaters because she was always cold.
I saw late-night study sessions that turned into conversations about the futures we were certain we’d have.
I saw two young women promising one another that no matter what life threw at us, we’d raise our children together, grow old together, and never let a man come between the bond we’d built.
“You know, I used to think about that little apartment we shared almost every day.” The corner of Yuki’s mouth lifted into something that resembled the smile I remembered.
It disappeared just as quick as it came, but for that brief moment I saw the girl who used to stay up with me until three o’clock in the morning talking about marriage, babies, and the kind of women we hoped we’d become.
We had been so certain life was going to be kind to us.
So certain the sisterhood we’d built would survive anything the world threw our way.
“I do too,” she admitted.
“I used to wonder where that girl went.” I watched her lower her eyes toward the floor, and instead of feeling satisfaction, I found myself grieving all over again.
“I’ve asked myself that question more times than you know.”
“No.” I slowly shook my head, unable to let her carry that burden beside me as though we’d lost the same thing.
“I don’t think you have.” Her head lifted almost immediately, and I watched the familiar defensiveness alter her expression. It amazed me how quickly she could still build walls around herself after all these years.
“You ain’t the only one who lost something, Masina.”
A laugh escaped me, but there wasn’t a trace of humor behind it.
It was the kind of laugh that came when disappointment had lived inside your bones for so long that crying no longer felt like enough.
I looked at the woman who had once been closer than a sister, wondering if she truly believed we were standing on equal ground after everything that had happened between us.
“You still doing that.”
Her brows pulled together. “Doing what?”
“Making yourself the victim.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She folded her arms across her chest, and just like that I caught another glimpse of the stubborn little girl I’d met during our freshman year of college.
Back then that pride had made me laugh. We’d argue over everything from class projects to who made the best sweet tea, only to end the night sharing takeout and promising we’d be old women rocking on somebody’s porch together.
Somewhere along the way that same pride stopped being harmless and started costing people their lives.
“You don’t know everything.”
“I know enough.”
“No.” She met my eyes without flinching.
“You only know your version.”
The words sat between us, and for a moment I stared at her, realizing that after thirty years we were still standing on opposite sides of the same story, each of us carrying scars the other would never fully understand.
“My version?” I repeated, taking another step toward her before stopping just a few feet away.
“My version is waking up every day wondering if my babies were still alive. My version is spending years chained up, drugged up, beaten until I couldn’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
My version is praying every single night that God would let me live long enough to hold my sons one more time, even if it was only for a few minutes. ”
My voice faltered for the first time since she'd walked through the door, not because I was losing my composure, but because there are some wounds time never truly closes. They simply become scars you learn to carry. Of everything Marius stole from me, and Lord knows that man stole more than any one person should’ve ever had to lose, the betrayal standing in front of me had always been the one I struggled to make peace with. I looked Yuki squarely in her eyes.
“My version is believing my sister loved me.” I watched the tears gather in her eyes, watched her lips part as though she’d been waiting thirty years to answer that one sentence.
“I did love you,” she whispered, and for just a second she sounded like the girl I used to know instead of the woman life had twisted into somebody I barely recognized.
“You had a funny way of showing it.”
She lowered her eyes, unable to hold my gaze any longer.
“I made mistakes.”
I stared at her, searching her face for the friend I’d buried years ago, wondering if she truly believed sleeping with my husband, lying to my face, and allowing me to mourn the death of a sisterhood that she’d already destroyed could somehow be reduced to a mistake.
“Forgetting my birthday is a mistake. Missing one of my phone calls is a mistake. Burning dinner is a mistake. Sleeping with my husband while at the same time calling me your sister wasn’t a mistake, Yuki.
That was a choice. You woke up every day knowing what you were doing was wrong, and every day you chose him over me. ”
“You smiled in my face,” I continued, refusing to look away from her no matter how badly she wanted me to.
“You sat at my kitchen table and broke bread with me. You held my babies while I cooked dinner. You laughed with me. Prayed with me. You let me cry on your shoulder over a man you were crawling in bed with the moment my back was turned.”
I felt my throat tighten, but I pushed through it anyway. Those memories had haunted me long enough. They deserved to be spoken aloud.
“Every time I called you my sister, every time I thanked God for putting you in my life, every time I trusted you enough to leave my children with you, you knew what you were doing. You knew what you’d taken from me, and somehow you found a way to look me in my face like none of it mattered.”
Yuki’s shoulders began to shake with tears she no longer tried to hide. She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, but it did nothing to stop the sob that escaped. “I hated myself.”
There wasn’t a single ounce of satisfaction in hearing her admit it. I’d imagined this conversation a thousand different ways over the last few months, convinced that confession would make the hurt smaller. It didn’t. If anything, it made me mourn us even more.
“You should’ve.”
“I did.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
She closed her eyes as though those three words physically hurt. “You think I don’t know that? You think there has been one day in thirty years that I ain’t hated the woman I became?”
I studied her for a long moment before answering. The truth deserved honesty, even now. “No, I don’t think you’ve spent the last thirty years hating yourself. I think you’ve spent the last thirty years trying to convince yourself you had a good enough reason.”
“I loved him.”
I closed my eyes for the briefest moment before looking back at her. There had been a time when those three words would’ve made me question everything I thought I knew about love. Now they only made me sad.
“No. You loved what he made you feel.” She frowned, and I could almost see her searching for a way to argue with me. “You loved being chosen after spending your whole life feeling overlooked.” Fresh tears slid down her cheeks.
“You loved finally believing somebody saw you instead of me.” Her breathing caught, and I knew I’d finally reached the truth she’d spent decades trying to outrun.
“I know you, Yuki. I knew you before Marius ever learned your name. I knew the girl who laughed too loud, cried too hard, and loved with her whole heart. I knew the young woman who swore we’d stand beside one another until we were old and gray. That woman wasn’t evil.”