What is Left Unrequited

Part II

Today is the third consecutive day that Galaxia has spent barricaded in your childhood bedroom. I can hear her quiet sobbing echo through the walls when I walk past your door. I'm worried she will cry until she eventually loses consciousness from dehydration. Celia waits on the other side of the door every day with a plate of food and a glass of water during every mealtime. Galaxia has been their second daughter from the moment you brought her home for a playdate when you were both nine years old. Galaxia's parents have come to see you the same way and have subsequently provided you with a home away from home.

It's my firm understanding that you did not give them a choice in the matter. One afternoon, a few weeks after that first playdate, the two of you sat all four parents down and made them all sign a contract that recognised you and Galaxia as sisters. "Lexi is my sister, and I am hers, so it's only fair that you, my mothers, are hers as well, and in the same right her mother and father are mine too," you announced, standing on the coffee table to gain a few extra inches of height. There were no objections. You drafted the contract, and Galaxia notarised it. Both parties ratified it and you gave it to your grandmother in Richards Bay for safekeeping when you visited her over the Christmas holiday later that year. You were the most organised nine-year-old in the history of nine-year-olds. At the same age, you could not get me to do my homework, let alone draft an entire contract. Surely enough, both your parents have upheld the terms of the contract for what will be sixteen years in September.

Celia and Olwethu love Galaxia relatively as much as they love you. They have been taking shifts to monitor her through the nights since she has locked herself in your room. One of them sleeps just outside the door in case she needs them at any point during the night. They have not failed to be present for her, even now, at what could easily be thought to be their worst possible moment. They remain true to their word.

It has dawned on me, and perhaps to your parents too, that you are the only one who can console her, and yet none of us can expect you to come to her aid this time around. That is not your fault. You never would have let any circumstances keep you away from your sister's side, but the choice to part ways was not yours to make. Even if you wanted to be here right now, you can't be.

Galaxia's heart is irreparably broken. In those first three days after that Sunday morning, your parents kept their phones close to them and an eye on the front door as if half-expecting you to call and announce your arrival, or better yet, come marching through the front door to reassemble the pieces of their shattered universe. I silently elected to sit on the porch and keep watch for your beige sedan. It was the least I could do for them. I would have sat there for as long as it took for them to come to terms with a fact that is hardest for anyone to admit; you were not returning to this life, and that was because a monster masqueraded for the longest time as your lover had claimed your life.

You never appreciated statistics. The idea of juxtaposing people's actions and choices always made you feel like just another raindrop in the ocean. Of course, you knew you could never avoid having your actions and choices measured by mathematical probability. That reality helped you accept the outcome of every choice you have ever made. You accepted yourself as the product of those choices. This was regardless of whether the world saw you as part of the thirty-nine percent of female attorneys in South Africa, or if they instead chose to see you as part of the ten thousand and forty-seven people admitted at a rehabilitation facility for substance abuse in 2018. You lived your life on your own terms. I wish I could know how you would feel about being part of the unknown number of women murdered every year at the hands of an intimate partner.