“They’ve opened the gate… better go in now. It’s a long walk,” her husband said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She nodded, not trusting her voice. The final boarding call echoed through the departure hall.
Around them, passengers began to gather their bags, slowly making their way toward the gate. Her heart pounded—not from excitement, but from a quiet, rising panic she could no longer hide. Each of her children, except the two still in the rehabilitation center, stood around her. One by one, they came to her—taking her hands gently, kissing them with affection and reverence.
“Don’t worry about us, Mother,” Zawiyah said, her voice calm, steady. “We’ll be alright.” She smiled weakly, touched her daughter’s face, and nodded. She wasn’t worried about these children. They were strong. They had steady jobs, families, direction.
It was the other two—the ones not here. Always the ones who aren’t there. Even as she held her boarding pass, even as she wore her new shawl and sensible shoes for the long flight, her mind refused to let go of them.
Her sons. Her broken, wandering boys. Who will visit them while I’m away? Who will ask the counselors how they’re doing? What if something happens? What if they forget that their mother never gave up on them—even now?
She blinked away the thoughts, forcing herself to stay composed. Her husband’s children were there too—most of them. They had come out of respect. Some had even come with genuine warmth. Only the second son was absent, as expected. But her youngest stepdaughter was there.
She approached quietly, wrapped her arms around her without hesitation, and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, Mak Cik… you’ll be safe.” She smiled at her—grateful, moved. She knows, the stepmother thought. She knows I’m scared.
The memory was still fresh—the one that refused to leave her. The burning wreckage. The charred bodies. A news report she’d watched just days before. An airplane crash somewhere far away, but close enough in her mind to haunt her sleep. What if it happens to us? What if this is a mistake?
She tried to shake the images loose, but they clung stubbornly, looping again and again behind her eyes. Still, she walked. Slowly. Reluctantly. The final boarding announcement rang again. They reached the immigration checkpoint. One last moment. She turned to look behind her—at the small crowd of her children and stepchildren waving gently from behind the glass wall.
Zawiyah lifted a hand, holding back tears. The youngest stepdaughter blew her a kiss. Her husband reached for her hand, and she gave it to him. His grip was firm. Comforting. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
And so she followed. Through the gate. Past the passport check. Down the long, sterile corridor that smelled faintly of coffee and jet fuel. She walked toward a future she had never imagined for herself.
A country she had only seen in magazines and television screens. A family she barely knew. But more than that, she walked as a woman trying to trust—for the first time in a long time—that maybe there was still something waiting for her.
Something new. She followed her husband to the plane that would carry her across oceans—to a place she had never been before. And with each step, she carried the weight of all she was leaving behind.
Chpt 29 / 36
