But as they walked inside, something felt off.
Too quiet, even for this house.
Mama Grace frowned slightly. “He is still in his room.”
The doctor adjusted his glasses. “At this time? That’s unusual.”
Mama Grace nodded slowly. “Very unusual.”
They climbed the stairs step by step.
Mama Grace knocked.
“Anthony?”
No answer.
She knocked again.
“Anthony?”
Still nothing.
The doctor frowned. “This is not normal.”
Mama Grace’s heart began to beat faster. “Something is wrong.”
She tried the handle.
Locked.
She turned to the doctor. “I’m opening it.”
The door creaked open slowly.
Mama Grace stepped in, then froze.
The doctor stepped in and froze too.
On the bed—Anthony, sleeping peacefully.
And beside him—Ma, also sleeping peacefully, close, calm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Silence.
Deep silence.
Then Mama Grace whispered, “Jesus is Lord.”
The doctor blinked rapidly. “I have been treating this boy for five years…”
He pointed slowly.
“…and this is what works?”
Mama Grace covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “It seems so.”
They both stood there for a few seconds longer—watching, processing, shocked.
Then Mama Grace whispered, “Let’s go.”
The doctor nodded quickly. “Yes, before we see what we are not supposed to see.”
They quietly closed the door and left.
Inside the room, Ma moved slightly, stretched, then slowly opened her eyes.
“Ah…”
She smiled. “That sleep was—”
She turned her head and saw him.
Anthony.
Right beside her.
Sleeping close.
Very close.
Her brain shut down.
Then restarted violently.
“Wait.”
She jumped up slightly, then froze again.
“Why am I on his bed?”
Memory hit her like a slap.
Gala. Drink. Car. Blur.
“Ah, I am finished.”
She placed both hands on her head. “I have crossed the line. I have entered prison.”
She tried to quietly leave the bed—slowly, carefully.
But just as she moved, a hand grabbed her wrist.
Firm. Warm.
She froze completely.
Slowly turned.
Anthony’s eyes were open, watching her.
Calm. Soft.
“Where are you going?”
Ma swallowed. “Nowhere.”
“Then why are you sneaking?”
She blinked rapidly. “I was not sneaking. I was relocating.”
He raised an eyebrow. “From my bed?”
Ma covered her face. “Sir, I am sorry. I did not plan this. The drink planned it.”
Anthony sat up slowly, still holding her wrist—but gently.
“I brought you here.”
Ma paused. “You did?”
“Yes.”
She blinked again, confused.
“You didn’t drag yourself here.”
She exhaled slightly. “Okay. Small relief.”
Then she quickly added, “But I still slept beside you.”
Anthony looked at her—quiet, thoughtful.
“And I slept.”
She stopped. “You slept?”
“Yes. Peacefully.”
“Yes.”
Ma’s expression changed from panic to curiosity.
“Again?”
He nodded slowly. “Again.”
Silence filled the room.
But this silence was different.
Heavy. Emotional. Real.
Anthony looked at her deeply.
“Ma.”
She looked up. “Yes, sir?”
“For five years, I couldn’t sleep.”
Her heart skipped.
“But with you…” He paused. His voice was softer now. “I sleep.”
Ma did not joke.
Did not interrupt.
Did not run.
She just listened.
Because for the first time, she understood.
This was not about food, or work, or coincidence.
This was something else.
Something deeper.
“Sir… I think I should go and work.”
“No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“No work today.”
Ma gasped. “No work, sir? Please don’t sack me with enjoyment.”
He almost smiled. “I’m not sacking you.”
“Then why no work?”
“Because I said so.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “This is how rich people behave.”
Mama Grace stood in the kitchen holding a tray.
The maids gathered around.
“We will take it to him.”
“No.”
Mama Grace’s voice was firm. “I will take it.”
One maid frowned. “Why?”
Mama Grace looked at her sharply. “Because I said so.”
Leave a Comment