The Better Place

“Lucy please accept my proposal,” Adam pleaded. “I love you.”

“Adam it’s not like that,” Lucy whimpered. “I love you as much as you love me, but you know our genotypes are the same, AS, and we can’t get married.” She cupped Adam’s beauteous face in her hands amorously. “If we get married to each other, we’re gonna have a sickle cell child or even more.”

“I know about all that, Lucy, but I wanna be with you always,” Adam cooed. “I love you and I’m willing to take the risk.”

“Adam, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Lucy replied in a soft, quivery voice, meeting Adam’s eyes. She managed to blink away her tears. “I don’t wanna give birth to a sickly child. I’m so sorry.”

Adam was imbued with bewilderment and laden with heartbreak, unable to bodily stop Lucy who spun on her heel and walked away seemingly reluctantly.

His eyes glistened with tears that all but began to trickle down. It seemed the rockfall of a love mountain. It seemed the love ocean had dried up.

“Why? Why did this have to happen to me and the one I love?” Adam soliloquized in a low voice. “Still I’m willing to take whatever risk for the sake of our love.”

When Lucy got to her apartment, she went straight to her bedroom. Immediately after she sank onto her bed, she broke down in tears. Not only Adam was heavy with bitterness. Lucy sorrowed more, for she knew the pain behind losing a precious entity even willingly.

In the secret, in the quietude and in her loneliness, she wept and wept, and then it seemed as though there was neither tears nor voice left in her.

“Oh God, why me?” Lucy whimpered, staring overhead eoth her tearful eyes. “This is so unfair. Why me, Lord? What am I going to do now? I can’t send Adam out of my life. I can’t pretend to live him no more.” She rendered her eyes downcast. “I can’t sacrifice our love.”

Lucy had eventually cried herself into slumber. It was already the break of day when she woke up the next day. She could feel the new situation with regard to her health as her head seemed a mortar to a dozen pistons.

A dire headache had befallen her. She neared the full-length mirror lazily, but when she saw her reflection in the mirror, terror impinged on her so that she cowered even as she screamed.

The willowy maiden in the mirror looked like a ghost that had escaped from the land of the dead. Her facial make-up was smeared. Her eyes were swollen because of the tearful weeping, and her long, ebony hair was tousled.

“Dear God,” she breathed somewhat woefully, “I don’t deserve any of these.”