Chapter 39 Zainab #2
Camille’s jaw tightened. I could see the fury building behind her eyes, controlled but real.
“I know. Prime told me everything he could piece together, and I’ve already been on the phone with the warden, the county health department, and a civil rights attorney.
What happened to you was a violation of your constitutional rights.
Those COs—Cooper and Jessup—they will face consequences. I promise you that.”
“I don’t care about consequences for them.
I care about being with my children.” I looked down at the two faces nestled against my chest. “I need to be their mother, Camille. Not from behind glass. Not through a phone. I need to hold them and feed them and be there when they cry. I can’t do that from a cell. ”
“I know. And that’s exactly what we’re going to argue.
” She sat in the chair beside my bed and pulled out her phone, scrolling through what looked like a drafted motion.
“I’m filing for an emergency bail hearing this morning.
Based on what happened—the neglect, the denial of medical care, the fact that you delivered twins in a jail cell without any professional assistance—we have grounds for immediate release on a humanitarian basis alone.
No judge in California is going to look at this situation and say ‘yeah, send her back.’ Not with media attention. Not with the liability.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“I think what happened to you is going to be on every news station in the country by tomorrow morning, and the county is going to be scrambling to cover their asses. They’re going to want this to go away quietly, and the fastest way to do that is to grant bail and hope you don’t sue them into oblivion.
” She paused. “Which you absolutely should, by the way. But we’ll deal with that later. ”
“Camille. I need to tell you something. And I need you to get a message to Prime right now. Not in five minutes. Not after you finish that motion. Right now.”
She set the phone down. “What is it?”
“Mehar—my sister—she’s dating someone. A man named Thad. Prime’s cousin.” I watched Camille’s face, waiting for the recognition. “He’s the one who killed my sister Zahara.”
The room went silent except for the beeping of the heart monitor and the soft breathing of my babies.
Camille stared at me. “What?”
“He’s the one I saw in that alley.”
Camille’s hand had gone to her mouth. Her legal mind was already spinning—I could see it in her eyes, the rapid calculations, the implications branching out like cracks in glass.
“Zainab.” Her voice was measured, but I could hear the tremor underneath. “If Thad killed Zahara, that means you’re not just innocent of the murder charge. We have the identity of the real killer. This changes the entire trajectory of your case.”
“I know.”
“But—” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Why didn’t you say anything before? Why did you wait until NOW?”
“Because it was his word against mine! I had no evidence, no proof. Just me saying I saw a man in an alley five years ago. What jury is going to convict Prime’s cousin based on my testimony alone?
Especially when I’m the one on trial for the murder?
” I was crying again, the frustration and guilt of five years of silence overflowing.
“And I knew if I told Prime, he would kill Thad himself. He wouldn’t wait for a trial.
He wouldn’t let the system handle it. He’d just end him.
And I wanted—” My voice cracked. “I wanted to be the one. I wanted to look that man in his eyes and make sure he knew why. For Zahara. That was supposed to be MY moment.”
Camille sat back, processing. I could see her running through scenarios, legal strategies, potential pitfalls.
“And now your sister is dating him,” she said quietly.
“And I found out on the phone thirty seconds before I went into labor. I couldn’t warn her.
I couldn’t say anything because my body was—” I gestured helplessly at the hospital bed, the babies, all of it.
“I fucked everything up, Camille. If I had said something sooner, Mehar would never have gotten close to him. Zahara’s killer would be in jail instead of me.
My babies wouldn’t have been born on a prison bunk. This is all my fault. All of it.”
“Hey.” Camille grabbed my hand, the one tethered to the bed. “Stop. This is not your fault. You were a traumatized woman trying to survive, and you made the best decisions you could with the information you had. Nobody gets to judge you for that.”
“But Mehar—”
“Is going to be okay. Because we’re going to handle this.” She stood up, already in motion. “First things first. Emergency bail hearing. Based on the medical neglect alone, I’m confident we’ll get you out.”
“And Thad?”
“I’m going to walk down that hallway right now and tell Prime everything you just told me.” She held my gaze. “He needs to know. Mehar needs to be protected. And we need to start building a case against the right person.”
“Camille.” I gripped her hand tighter. “Tell him he can’t kill Thad. Not yet. We need him alive. We need him to face what he did. Promise me.”
Something flickered across her face, doubt, maybe, about whether Prime Banks was capable of restraint when it came to the people he loved.
“I’ll tell him,” she said carefully. “Whether he listens is another conversation.”
She gathered her things, straightened her blouse, and squared her shoulders like she was preparing to walk into a courtroom instead of a hospital waiting room.
“Get some rest,” she said from the doorway. “Hold those babies. Let Elise take care of you. I’m going to go make some things happen.”
“Camille.”
She turned back.
“Thank you. For everything. For being here all night. For fighting for me even after…You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“Yes, I did.” Her voice was soft but certain. “Because it’s the right thing to do. And because you deserve better than what this system has given you.”
Then she walked out the door.
I watched her disappear down the hallway through the narrow window, her posture shifting with every step—from the woman who had just hugged me and wiped my tears to the attorney who was about to walk into a room with Prentice Banks and tell him that his cousin was the one who murdered my twin.
God help them all.
I looked down at the two lives cradled against my chest. My daughter was sleeping, her tiny mouth making sucking motions against my hospital gown. My son was awake, and I could see his blue eyes, unfocused but wandering, taking in a world he’d barely been in for a day.
“I’m going to fix this,” I whispered to them. “Mama’s going to fix all of this. I promise you.”
The monitor beeped. The babies breathed. And somewhere down the hall, the truth I’d been carrying for five years was finally about to reach the one person who could do something about it.
I just prayed he’d do it the right way.