Different people, different pain
Although the days quickly went by and brought in weeks, the day of the funeral arrived for the Jacobs.
Their once brightly lit home suddenly had a dark cloud of pain, grief and loss hovering above their heads as the maid Mr Jacobs hired prepared the necessities for the guests arriving after the church service.
Mrs Jacobs might have been a nightmare for Zara but she was Mr Jacobs' dream. She filled the house with her laughter or jokes or sometimes the gossip she hears from the neighbours she's friends with whenever he was home and for Zara, she wasn't always so horrible, they had their moments.
Most people don't know this but a good mirror is the most honest piece of furniture one could have in their home, it shows exactly what it sees plainly without bothering to hide your flaws or bend the image to suit your taste, and how you receive and interpret that message solely depends on you.
Mr Jacobs' mirror is no different, he can see how horrible he looks, his eyes have sunken and grown dark eye bags due to the sleepless nights he's been having these past weeks.
His once glossy black hair had glittering streaks of silver hair that come with ageing had lost its shine and carried a dullness instead. He had been one to spend his free time in the sun despite how demanding his work is at the office, living in San Francisco for the past fifteen years of his life had helped him keep that youthful golden glow as an Arabian himself.
But for the first time since he lost his first love his skin had lost all traces of its golden colour and now he wears pale skin, looking like someone who just rose from the dead. One would say he would make the perfect cut to play the role of a ghost on Broadway without the need for makeup.
When he had little money, fresh out of an internship after he graduated from the university, he met an Egyptian woman whose brown skin, chubby hips and large brown eyes caught his attention. He could still remember the first time he managed to convince her to go on a date with him, he took her to the beach for a picnic date.
He can still remember how she had let her hair down to be tousled and played with by the fingers of the wind. The length and thickness weren't the only things that had Mr Jacobs falling for this woman's beauty. Her soft voice, and the way she smiled every time he bought a McDonald's cheeseburger with fries and a blueberry ice cream for her lit up his days with the pride of providing as her man.
Her stubborn nature and that laugh that never seized to remind him of a pig's snort all still had his heart skipping beats till he could no longer take the few dates and the occasional hand holdings and the love letters anymore. It wasn't enough for him, he wanted her, all of her and so he made her his wife.
Their wedding was one of the best things that happened to him. They both took into consideration the rituals of both their cultures on that day which brought happiness and love to the hearts of both their parents. It was a great day for both their families and it was even better for the bride and groom that day.
Things had gone well for them even though they didn't have much and sometimes struggled to get by. Despite the scorching sun of poverty that made it difficult for their rose bush of joy to grow in their garden, two new joy-rose sprouted and grew till they blossomed in this joy garden as the day for his wife to birth their twins grew near.
Unfortunately, on that day in the labour room, something went wrong. Despite the doctor's effort to make him understand the situation was beyond anyone's control because one of the children had died during birth.
All his mind could fathom was that he was the one to blame for the death of his son if he hadn't skipped some of the appointments due to his lack of money the doctor would have noticed the problem on time and would have given his wife the right medication to fix it.
As if that blow of heartbreak wasn't enough for life to land him, it gave him another and this one felt like an uppercut to his jaw. The doctors then told him that his beloved wife had passed on with his son too!
Only his daughter; such a tiny thing in his large hands managed to make it through it all, only she fought hard enough to survive and stay with him. She saved his life from himself, he wouldn't want to go through another day if he lost all three of them.
He cried that cold night as he rocked her to sleep in her cradle which he placed beside their bed that no matter what he will work day and night to give her the life of a princess. He blamed himself bitterly, and he kept saying to himself, "If only I had money to pay for all the checkups and procedures, my wife and my baby boy would be here with me and my baby girl."
True to his word, he worked rigorously and extensively through the days, weeks, months and years. Whether he fell sick, starved himself or did extra meaner jobs just to keep providing for Zara, he did it no matter what his health, mood or anyone said he kept going.
When Zara turned four he got his lucky break when his trades in the forex market got him four hundred thousand dollars which felt like a million dollars to him those days. With this good fortune, he moved them to a new house; the house they are currently living in, and he went on to open his company for more forex traders to join him to collectively trade funds for other companies and keep their share.
He would have never been able to make it that far if it weren't for his childhood friend who chose to stay with his child while he was away at work all those days till he returned late at night.
Along the way, feelings grew between them because he was lonely, a man without a companion, he needed someone by his side to give him warm meals, ease his stress when he returns home from a tough day, to satisfy his needs; the needs of a man and to raise his princess.
He would provide for them and protect them in every way he possibly could, he knew money is power and so he swore to acquire billions of it for his family's sake and so he found himself walking down the aisle once more.
But it's like God is against him having a wife, if not why take the two women he loved like that? The chances of lightning striking a person to death are one in a million, yet it struck his wife and she wasn't among the lucky few who survived.
Mr Jacob had to suck up his emotions, cleaned the stray tear that escaped from his tear glands, mustered up what he deemed as a brave face and stepped out of the confines of his room to drive Zara and the maid to church so as they don't end up late for the funeral.
In the church, Mr Jacobs does his best to look strong for the sake of his daughter even though she had stayed quiet throughout the whole ordeal, he hadn't even seen her cry; she's just like her birthmother he notes, and so he decided it's better that way because her tears would trigger his and a grown man crying in public is frowned upon.
Meanwhile, Zara watches everyone except her and her dad shed tears openly and then quickly use a handkerchief to dab their eyes.
At this point, she believes she's the only one who hasn't shed a tear since she realised that her step mum is dead. She noticed the occasional wetness of her dad's eyes whenever she went into his room to look for him at home.
"Oh, God! Tell me why?! Why did you take my only child? What did she do that was so wrong for her to deserve such a painful early death?" The cry of Mrs Jacobs' mother holds Zara's attention like cement holds blocks together.
"Ah! You made the rain to bless the earth, you send the rain to give life to the trees to bring forth fruits, and you quench the thirst of ordinary animals with the rain, so why God?! WHY?! My poor baby! You let the rain take my child! You have been unkind to her, she had no child of her own even–" The cries of Mrs Jacobs' mother shoot arrows of grief and pity into the hearts of everyone in the church listening to her as the pastor tried to soothe her and calm her during her speech.
Her wails become unbearable to hear and so her brother sends his sons to help her down from the altar so they can get on with the funeral. He could no longer bear to watch his sister fall apart in front of all these people who are probably faking their compassion and are only here to save face.
The mourning continues in the Jacobs' home with people sadly speaking as they recall their different experiences with the woman in the picture hung in the hallway connecting the kitchen to the sitting room. That same hallway Zara remembers running through to the kitchen on the last day her stepmother was alive.
Mr Jacobs seems to be stuck in a loop of nodding his head and saying thank you as he received both fake and real condolences.
On the other hand, Zara sat by herself as she watched her father speak to people while most tried to ask how she was and move to a different side of the house. The whole sight just made her thirsty for something sweet and so she could be found walking to the kitchen to get her favourite Capri Sonne's orange juice from the fridge.
"Zara, that girl is a bad omen. I can swear on it." Hearing her name stops the child from stepping into the kitchen. The adults that pass by pay no mind to her because their main intent is to give their condolences to the man who lost his wife. What could they possibly discuss with a child? They thought besides meaningless 'how are yous'.
"You know she is the reason Mrs Jacobs died?" Loud gasps fill the kitchen as the women continue their gossip.
"How so?!" Another woman asks.
"When I returned home that night, I saw the child standing over her body." The first woman says to her counterparts.
"What was she doing there?" A third woman's voice could be heard.
"She wasn't crying that I tell ya! What child doesn't shed a tear when their mother dies? One that kills I tell ya." The first woman whispers loudly. Unfortunately, all these words they are speaking amongst themselves could be heard clearly by Zara.
"Oh, my God! Could it be true? Did she really push Mrs Jacobs down the stairs? What an evil little thing! Probably the father is trying to cover up for her because what are the odds to be struck to death by lightning?" The second woman exclaims rather loudly which has her colleagues shushing her so the other passers-by don't catch onto their conversation.
"It is true! Remember, that it was because of this same child Mrs Jacobs had a miscarriage and could no longer give birth!" The third woman says and her friends agree as they recall the incident.
Zara could no longer bear to listen to them, tears freely flow out of her eyes as she runs up the stairs.
She runs into her room and shuts her door then she lets her quiet cry turn into loud sobs.
"How could they say that about her? She did not push her mum down the stairs, she didn't kill her mum. Her mum always beats her and threatens her since she lost her baby but she never killed her mum. And it was an accident, her dad told her it was no one's fault that accidents happen so why are they saying she caused her mum's miscarriage? Or did she?"
These thoughts cloud the mind of a traumatised child who is much too young to fight off such negativity.
The more she thought of their words the harder she cried. It's one thing to be accused of what you did not do, it's another thing to be accused of a murder you didn't commit. A child for that matter!
"I did-dn't k-kill my m-mum, the rain t-t-took her, not me," Zara says to herself as she cries louder with her head resting against her door as she remembers what stepmum's mother had wailed on the altar in church when they called her to say a few words of the deceased.
"What's wrong with you? Why are you crying?" A voice comes from behind Zara. This causes the child to turn around quickly in fright as her heart leaps to take flight.