SOLEI
Four days earlier, I woke up to the kind of pain that lived in your bones and reminded you with every breath that your body had been broken. My face felt swollen, and when I tried to move, my ribs screamed in protest.
I opened my eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light filtering through heavy curtains. The room didn’t look like a typical hospital–there were old wooden cabinets and patterned wallpaper–but I smelled antiseptic, something herbal, and heard the beeping of machines. An IV was in my arm.
Looking to my left, I saw my mother sitting in a chair beside my bed. Her head was tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. “Ma…” I cleared my throat. “Mama.” My voice was a little stronger, but still hoarse.
“What happened?”
“You got hurt, baby. Real bad.” My mother’s voice was steady, but I could hear the emotion underneath. “Money brought you here four days ago. The doctor had to stabilize the internal bleeding. You had a concussion. Your face…” She trailed off, her jaw tightening.
The words hit me like a wave. Internal bleeding. Broken ribs. Concussion. Four days. But then the memories started coming back in flashes. Darius. The lake house. His hands on me. The lamp in my hand. Blood. His face twisted with rage. The phone call to Money. My head hitting the wall.
The sound. God, the awful sound still rang in my skull. My lips barely moved. “Is he…?” I whispered, dread curling in my stomach.
Her expression hardened. Her jaw clenched tight.
“What do you think?” I stared at her. “Money found you and then… well, after… he brought you straight here instead of a hospital where the police would be all in your business.” She sat back down on the edge of the bed, taking my hand.
“You don’t need to worry about any of that.
Just focus on getting better and stronger. ”
My mother didn’t have to tell me. I knew Money killed Darius.
Nobody had to spell it out for me because I knew my husband.
I knew the kind of man Money was in general, but over me specifically.
And after what Darius had done, there was no universe where Money would’ve let him keep breathing.
I knew Darius signed his own death certificate the second he put that knife to my neck.
I shut my eyes, exhaled a slow, shaky breath and my eyes snapped open.
“The kids,” I said suddenly, panic rising in my chest. “Where are my babies?”
“Money has been making sure they’re good.” My mother squeezed my hand hard. “Just a few more days and you’ll be able to see them.”
I looked down at my body for the first time. My left arm was in a sling. Bandages wrapped around my ribs. My hands were bruised and scraped. Broken nails. I reached up to touch my face and felt the swelling. The tenderness. The wrongness of it.
“Listen to me,” she said, her voice steady, slicing through my sobs. “This ain’t on you. You hear me? This ain’t your fault, okay? Rest now, baby. That’s all that matters right now.” Still, shame and regret pressed down, thick and choking. I shut my eyes, desperate for the darkness to swallow me.
The doctor came in later that afternoon. His name was Dr. Williams. He was a Black man in his fifties with graying hair and steady hands. He’d been doing this work for decades, patching up people who couldn’t go to hospitals or who couldn’t afford questions.
“How you feelin’, Mrs. Madden?” he asked, checking the monitors.
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
“Sounds about right.” He pulled up a chair and sat down, his expression serious.
“Let me be straight with you. You’re gonna need to take it real easy for the next few weeks.
The concussion is severe so you’re gonna have light headaches and maybe some dizziness.
Your whole body is bruised up pretty badly.
You’re very lucky your husband found you when he did. ”
I nodded, taking it all in.
“Recovery timeline is six to eight weeks minimum,” he continued. “No heavy liftin’ or strenuous activity. And you need to watch for warnin’ signs like severe headaches, vomitin’, or confusion. Anything like that, you have Money call me immediately, aight?”
“Yes. Thank you. When can I see my kids?”
Dr. Williams looked at my mother, then back at me.
“I understand you wanna see them. Trust me. I have seven kids.” He chuckled and patted my hand.
“Give it a few more days. You’re still too fragile physically and emotionally, and they need to see you healin’, not all fucked up.
Let the swellin’ go down some more. Let yourself get stronger. ”
A few more days felt like forever, but I nodded. “Okay,” I whispered.
“You’re gonna be aight,” Dr. Williams said, standing up. “You survived. That’s what matters.”
After he left, I stared at the ceiling and let myself feel it all.
The rage came first. Rage at Darius for being so fucking weak and unraveling.
For not being able to accept my apology after making my choice.
For thinking he had the right to take me, to hurt me, and to punish me for choosing someone else.
I couldn’t believe he’d snapped like that, and I was the subject of his pain.
Deep, wracking sobs tore from me, each one making my ribs scream, but I couldn’t stop. My mother was right there, her arms warm around my shaking body. “Let it out, baby,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Let it all out.”
Movement from the television mounted across the room caught my attention. The TV had been on the entire time on mute, flashing through clips and headlines. Then Darius’s face suddenly filled the screen, and my heart skipped. Lifting my head, I sniffled. “Turn it up.” I pointed at the TV.
My mother hesitated half a second, then grabbed the remote off the nightstand and raised the volume.
“…still no sign of thirty-eight-year-old investment banker Darius Jennings, who authorities say disappeared seemingly overnight following multiple allegations of financial misconduct connected to his firm.”
The screen switched to footage of Darius in a tailored suit walking into some charity event, smiling like he wasn’t a whole mental patient behind closed doors.
“Sources close to the investigation claim Jennings is officially under internal review after evidence surfaced accusing him of stealing funds from high-net-worth clients over the last two years. Federal investigators are also reportedly looking into claims of embezzlement and money laundering connected to Jennings’ position at Halbrook & Dane Capital. ”
Another clip played, showing reporters crowded outside a downtown glass office building, before the camera cut to an older white man standing stiffly before microphones.
“At this time, we are fully cooperating with authorities,” the man said carefully.
“The allegations against Mr. Jennings are extremely disturbing and do not reflect the values or ethics of Halbrook & Dane Capital. Our focus right now is protecting our clients and conducting a complete internal audit.”
The reporter’s voice came back over the footage.
“Police have not officially named Darius Jennings a suspect in any criminal case, however investigators do believe he may have fled as pressure surrounding the accusations intensified. Anyone with information regarding his whereabouts is encouraged to contact authorities.”
The room went quiet again except for the soft sound of the television still playing in the background. Slowly, I turned my head and looked at my mother. She looked back at me, her expression unreadable but knowing all at the same time.
???
Three days later, I was demanding to go home to my babies so Dr. Williams cleared me to go home the next morning. When I woke up, Money was sitting in the chair at my bedside, his elbows on his knees, watching me. He looked tired but still fine as ever.
“Hey,” I said softly.
“What’s up, baby?” He stood up and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “You ready to get outta here?”
“So ready.”
Dr. Williams came an hour later with discharge instructions. Money listened to every word. “Rest, hydration, and eatin’ light meals. I’ve prescribed Toradol and Tylenol for the pain,” he informed us.
Money nodded. “What kinda light meals?”
“Broth, soft foods, nothin’ too heavy. Focus on keepin’ her hydrated and well rested. No stress.”
“I gotchu,” Money replied, dapping him up into a manly hug.
Dr. Williams looked at me. “You take care of yourself, Mrs. Madden. You’ve been through hell. Give yourself time and grace.”
“Thank you for everything,” I told him. He nodded and left the room.
Money helped me get dressed slowly, and every movement hurt, but I was going home. We walked out of the house together with Money’s arm around my waist, supporting most of my weight. The sunlight hit me, warm, bright, and almost unbearably beautiful.
I noticed a Bentley parked at the curb, gleaming black in the afternoon light.
Money helped me into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but firm.
He buckled my seatbelt, adjusted the seat so I could recline slightly, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
As we pulled away from the curb, I looked out the window at the city passing by.
“You hungry?” Money asked.
“Starving.”
“Doc said light meals, so I was thinkin’ Mama’s Kitchen. Good ol’ chicken noodle soup. Maybe some ginger tea.”
I smiled despite the pain. “You really listened to him.”
Money glanced over at me before looking back at the road. “Hell yeah, I listened. Marvin’s my guy. Been knowin’ him for years from bein’ in the streets. Nigga done stitched up damn near everybody at some point.”
I looked over at him quietly while he continued driving.