Sudais was dead.

That was the only explanation behind Laila's raging heart.

Unprepared soldiers who fight with conscious control AGAINST prepared terrorists who would stop at nothing to complete the mission, Why wouldn't she think Sudais was gone?

Selfish as it sounded, she wouldn't mind him losing his army if it meant he emerged alive. Whichever wound he acquired, they'd treat it.

She needed him.

He couldn't be gone just when her heart clenched at the thought of waking up to an empty bed. Not when he had gotten under her skin too much. Not when she was certain of her feelings.

She had committed so many sins, so many sins that she didn't ever think God would answer her prayers.

At the thought, she let out a, "Kai!" Shaking her head and hit her right hand against the floor, the tears cascading down her face.

6 hours.

She'd been in Gombe for 5 hours, while her father, siblings, and father's men had been out for the same 5 hours, doing what they could do but there still wasn't any news worth hearing.

Laila knew what it was going to be. They would call her or Mami eventually-or better still, they'd come home with dropped shoulders, their eyes looking down and their words getting hitched in their throat just to tell her what her biggest fear now was; Sudais is dead, Laila.

And then he'd laugh. And cheer. And applaud fate for doing what she did best, ruin her life. Whoo! She was damn good at it.

At every point in her life, after someone had shown her how much they valued her, Laila developed a phobia. A phobia of blinking. Because every time she blinked, she was scared to open her eyes. Scared she'd wake up and it'd all be a dream. A dream that'd slip off her memory in a few more minutes.

But Sudais wasn't a dream.

Although he was starting to feel like one.

When did all this happen? When did she marry him? When did she stop fighting him everyday? Did she ever stop fighting him everyday? When did she give in to him? When did she start to even care about him? When was all this?

It felt packed. Like everything happened yesterday.

What if it really happened? What if this was it? Was she just going to return home like always? Start from scratch?

God, please.

Lord, where was Sudais? Was he alright? Was he alive? Or was she going to find a dead body?

A dead body?

"La'ila ha'ela anta, Subhanaka inni kuntum minaz-zalimin." Laila turned her mantra tune-up, her hand clasping her wrist as they rested atop her head.

"Laila ki dena saka hanunki a kanki, don Allah."

Shifting teary eyes at her mother she tilted her head, spreading her palms in question. "Mami me kikeso nayi? Ya kike so nayi?"

"Kiyita addua." The mother advised, bringing her palms together, gesturing the prayer sign.

"Ya mutu ko?" Laila asked no one in particular, her arms spreading before she brought it over her head, almost as if she was shielding herself from harm. "Na zama bazawara, Mami. Mijina ya mutu!" She shrieked, shaking her head over the sounds of protests and cries going up in the room.

"Haba Laila, se kace ke ba musulma bace?" Mama Adda asked, her voice slow and small.

"Ki dena fadin haka. Your husband will make it, Insha Allah." Her mother reassured, inching forward on the couch as she continued to rub Mima's convulsing back.

There they were, Mama Adda, Mami, Laila, Hafsy, Mima, and numerous women that had heard what happened all seated in Mami's spacious living room.

Laila was on the tiled floor, her back against a couch, her shaky legs laid out and her body convulsing.

Mami had suggested they continued to pray. Laila on her wobbly legs caught herself from falling more times than she cared to count while praying. Her recitation came out ringing and croaky-almost guttural as she cried harder than she ever cried to Allah her whole life.

Collapsing after over 4 Nafil prayers, Laila slumped onto the mat, placing her cheeks against the heart of the rug before she let out an ugly cry.

In that position, she felt closer to Allah than she'd ever done. It was like he was listening to her unsaid prayers. No, he listened to her unsaid prayers. Even answered them. Or at least answered the first half of it.

Modibbo barged into the lounge, his salam going unheard because he didn't even make one.

He headed to Laila, Muslim appearing as he headed towards Mima-the girl he had grown a fondness for.

Laila lifted her upper body off the rug, her palm against it to hold her weak body up.

"Ansame shi?"

Modibbo nodded, attempting to grab Laila who hit her chest with her palms, her body bouncing spontaneously.

She abruptly rose, throwing jumbled-up questions as she scanned the room. "A ina? Where is he? Is he alive? Is he alive, Modibbo?"

The women sent wide eyes at Modibbo, he was their only hope then and there. "He and his injured men are at the hospital."

Grabbing his arm in a tight hold, Laila led him out, not caring to invite anyone.

"Wait, wear some shoes," Modibbo said, stopping in his tracks to watch Laila look down at her feet and then back to him.

Laila hissed, dragging Modibbo-who she thought would disappear if she didn't hold him tight- to the side, as she slipped on random shoes she had no idea who it belonged to.

Laila sat in the front seat of the car Modibbo was driving, impatiently tapping her feet, her eyes darting from her chipped nails to the road every second.

At the hospital, before the car could park, Laila and Mima were jumping out, Laila leading the way into the A&E just to find her dad at the guarded entrance, she ran to him, pushing men away until she was holding his arm, "Daddy, is he dead?"

Daddy twisted away from Shehu, shaking his head. "No. No, no, Laila. No."

Laila didn't know how she let out a cry and engulfed her dad, placing her wet face against his chest and shaking her head.

So much for First hug huh.

The man sighed, bringing a hesitant hand to rub her back, "He is not dead. He has lost a lot of blood and broken some bones, he is in surgery with the rest of the injured ones."

"Was he...was he conscious when you...found him?"

The man didn't answer but that was his answer.

Was he even going to make it?

In this type of situation? Hardly.

At last, Mami pulled Laila from the old man and dragged her to the leather waiting bench of the A&E operation room.

As the hours went by, Laila learned-overheard that over 8 men, excluding Sudais, were severely injured to the point of surgery. Almost 5 were injured to the point of dressing up. Only a few made it out with only psychological injuries. And they lost 4 men.

While the terrorist came prepared, Sudais' crew didn't. They were low on bullets, never expecting an attack an hour to their destination. What they were high on though were grenades, and they didn't hesitate to use them. Thanks to Allah and the grenades, they made it out, barely.

Laila had frozen in one position for 7 hours, her hands jammed into her armpit in an attempt to hug herself since she had refused any physical contact with anyone. Behind her trembling lips housed her gritting teeth. Her uncontrollable whimpers, gasps, and expels in self doom-realization had people telling her to calm down and pray instead.

She did, they said Allah listens to a throbbing heart, right? He'd listen to her prayers in the form of a whisper.

Although her eyes were bright red and droopy, sleep was the last thing on her mind.

It was 1 am but how could she sleep?

For the first time in a few hours, she glanced around the waiting room. Everyone was mostly sitting, some dozing off while some held their faces in their palms. The rest were mostly standing with their backs to the wall, their heads were thrown back while some just paced back and forth.

Laila blew out a breath, swallowing a stubborn lump before letting out a sob that caught everyone's attention in the silent hall.

People's faces rose from their palms, some dropped their eyes, some woke up and some stopped pacing off to look at Laila.

"You people should just tell me the truth!" She had intended for her voice to come out as a roar but her voice sounded wobbly and throaty.

"He is going to be fine," Mami reassured, the rest backing her by nodding.

Laila laid back in the corner, silently sobbing and occasionally wiping her tears with her himar with no idea what time it was. She was sure it had been an eternity, only that it was mere hours.

Further around subh, Daddy walked into the waiting room, his shoulders slumped and his eyes red.

Laila instantly knew what that meant but waited for the news first.

The man had no intention of disclosing the news, so he gestured fingers at Mami for her to follow him. The woman did, momentarily holding Laila's cold cheek before disappearing.

Laila had pushed the urge to pee, to move, or even breathe their whole stay out. Now that she had stopped crying and accepted her fate, she stood up, putting a palm out to Shehu who jerked up at her movement.

She gestured to her mouth, wordlessly telling him something he didn't understand but he nodded, sitting down.

Out the hallway, Laila headed in search of a restroom to wash her face, she wouldn't pee in a public toilet. She had had her fair share of infections and oh, thank you next.

"We can't tell her...she can't handle it right now..."

Laila's weak steps halted, her body going stiff in alarm, her eyes widened and her body instinctively leaned towards the faint voice.

The urge to wash her sticky face? All out the window.

Laila's curiosity got the best of her and she walked into another empty hallway with her parents a few feet apart as they attempted to 'talk in private'.

With all the crying she had done, her voice was bound to come out throaty, "What can't you tell me, Mami?" They were referring to her right? Everything right then was about Sudais right? Who was next after Sudais? Her. "What can't i handle, Daddy?"

Her parent's eyes flew to her, like kids caught in a bad act before her dad was quick to reassure her.

"Nothing. It was not about you. Go back and wait for us."

Mami not saying anything when she had been the one comforting her since everything happened said a lot. She stared at the woman who noticed Laila's unwavering eyes and dropped her head, confirming Laila's doubts. Actually, Laila's facts.

Laila started to slowly march to them, shifting her palms out. "He is dead, isn't he?"

Even Daddy's head fell at her question.

"Sudais ya mutu ko, Mami? That is what you don't want to tell me, what you think I can't handle?" She was 2-3 feet away from her mum by the time she finished talking.

Her hands came to rest atop her head, energy surging through her as she started to bounce up and down, whispering, "You're right. I can't handle this."

Her legs wobbly and all, she held her mother's arm as spontaneous sobs wrecked through her, pulling her to the floor and she continued to shake her head in denial. "No-no-no-no. Innalillahi. Mami! Daddy!"

She had been the one to suggest coming to her hometown. Wait, she didn't suggest, she ordered. And now she had dragged her husband to his death. Outside stood her family and his sisters, waiting for good or bad news. And it was going to be bad.

"Innalillahi Wa'inna'ilaihir Raji'un!" Laila exclaimed again, dragging her heavy arms to her head and dragging herself to a wall.

So then, this was it? Their journey had come to an end?

They had passed this exact day last year not knowing the following year would come and it'd be his death day? His expiration date? And who was the cause of it? Her.

Her.

"How..." She trailed off, blinking rapidly as one of her hands came down, her fingers twisted in question. "How am i going to tell his sisters?" Her hand returned to her head, her body frantically twisting to her sides as if scared of everything and everyone. "How am i going to tell his family, Mami?"

In between tears, Mami shook her head. "No, it's okay, Laila."

Laila's movements ceased, but her mouth didn't. "It's not okay Mami," Her arm flew to the door, "Muri said we should turn back. I said we should come to Gombe. Ni..." the hysteric crying woman stabbed her fingers into her chest, gasping for air. "Who will believe I didn't kill him?"

"He is not dead, Halima. He is not dead."

Laila stiffened, a splash of coldness, dread, hitting her at the core. If he wasn't dead, what didn't they want her to know?

Laila's question hitched in her throat. She brought an angry palm to clasp her throat over her jilbab, her eyes shining with moisture and a sudden wave of dizziness wafting her.

"Wha-what?"

Daddy took a deep breath, pulling Mami away from his front to step forward and clasp his hands below his abdomen. "He is not dead, Halima."

Her voice soft and shaky, she lifted a palm. "What then?"

Another deep breath and then he was explaining. "The doctors operated on 12 of them. 3 didn't make it, and 7 have already regained consciousness. 1 is not leaning unto the land of the living and Sudais...he is not waking up or responding to any stimulation...Laila, your husband slipped into a Coma."

The next wave of dizziness didn't just hit Laila and go, it hit her square in the face and took her consciousness along with.

***               

Waking up to people all around you wasn't something Laila enjoyed. That day though, she was glad.

She had jerked off the bed with a harsh gasp, her eyes widened and her breathing fast.

"Alhamdulillah," came from around her.

A particular someone that had Laila cracking into a new set of tears approached her, sitting by the edge of the bed and engulfing her.

Laila and Mima cried for what felt like hours.

It was obvious the news had been broken to everyone. Thank God, Laila couldn't imagine how she'd start to break the news.

After their crying session, Laila was ready for another when she requested to see Sudais who had been moved into a VIP room under heavy security.

She didn't know it then, but she was passing through hallways that were going to define her life for however long it took him to recover.

Once in the spacious white butterscotch room that smelt like a disinfectant company, Laila's heart rate fatally dropped, her skin tingling and her fingers splaying against her chest.

Innalillahi Wa'inna'ilaihir Raji'un.

Amidst the room sat a corpse of a man she couldn't recognize, the beeping sounds from the cardiac monitor making it more real than she thought it was.

Laila's free hand came up, her fingers pinching her arm and she let out a yelp.

Same scene, no change.

A wave of sadness and defeat hit her.

Laila muttered sets of exclamations before she was held back from screaming.

Tied to compression machine, ET tubes, cardiac monitor, ventilator machine, Nasogastric tube, cannula drips-both for saline water and blood-, urinary catheter, and more she couldn't look at without feeling the need to scream, Sudais had never, ever, looked that vulnerable. His head was wrapped around a bandage, smaller bandages over stitches splattered around the visible part of his body, his face carrying the least of the wounds apart from 2 bandages.

Look at him, almighty and then he fell. Fell like the nobody that he was.

It was times like this that Laila had the most iman that she lacked while growing up since her religion was forced on her. The most reminder that we were only healthy and wealthy because God wanted us to be. If he decided to pull one out one card, no matter how healthy you were, you couldn't be wealthy, or no matter how wealthy you were, you couldn't buy health.

Laila's palm covered her mouth as she examined him from head to toe, her eyes barely seeing as tears clouded them no matter how much she blinked.

His once cream face was red in shade, his facial organs intact with a few bruises. His chest exposed, it gave way to the fact that it was the most injured part of his body.  It was wrapped completely in a bandage with tubes sticking out. A wrist of his was veiled in a cast, indicating it was broken. Fingers above the same wrist were wrapped in a split, they were fractured. Down to his white cotton-covered abdomen to his knees, she caught nothing, his right leg though was cast up to a pin.

Laila lifted the clothing off it to find his thigh wrapped in a cast, immobilizing the area.

Oh, he had fractured his femur bone.

Laila had examined him enough, she turned to his face. It was still odd to find him devoid of oxygen therapy, but then again, she knew some Coma patients could breathe without help.

If she stood there another second, she might faint. His sight wasn't one to behold.

Out the door, Laila walked into a woman, the familiar scent of Humra immediately wafting into her nostrils. Laila let out a wail, dropping to her knees only to be caught when the woman caught her arms, whispering, "La. Don't do that. (No.)" before bringing a stunned Laila into her embrace.

Laila had expected the expected, shaming from the husband's side of the family that was popular in northern Nigeria. Instead, here she was, embracing her husband's mother in front of his hospital room while closing her eyes and crying into the woman's laffaya.

Laila heard the woman whisper Arabic words that sounded comforting before she released her and let her walk into another hug, Maijidda's.

Turns out, his family flew in the next chance they got.

Despite hearing bits, Laila wanted the details about Sudais' condition from the doctor, and that was what she did.

"He had to undergo surgery to fish out the bullets that hit him and surgery on his thigh. He had a partial fraction in his right femur bone. A broken wrist, 2 fractured ribs, whiplash, 3 broken fingers, and carbon monoxide poisoning. We had to relieve pressure from his left lung and flush out the poison from his system. Thankfully, he could breathe on his own after the surgery. He had suffered a minor internal injury in his brain that we took care of. We plan on going for further tests and X-rays in case we missed something. Him being in a coma makes our work harder, but we'll try."

Laila stared at the doctor, too stunned to speak.

"His highness is in a very critical condition, ma'am. His body was shutting down by the time they brought him in. He lost too much blood from his bullet wounds and internal injury. There were many glass cuts all over his body. His broken ribs poked his lungs while the impact on his head thankfully didn't push him into stroke, but it did push him into a coma. We will do everything in our power amma Gaskia Addua kawai zamu dogara ga."

She was listening to everything he was saying, maybe even referencing her studies but all she felt was disconnected. Was that normal? Was this how people whose loved ones were victims of terrorist attacks felt?

Did their hearts clench like that? Did it really feel like they were dying but still breathing? Was this how it felt knowing your loved one barely made it and they still would barely make it with such odds?

No.

Without a word, Laila ran out of the hallways, heading out to an open space to breathe. The walls were closing in on her, about to crush her.

Her throat hitched and she felt the need to remove her jilbab because she was sweating. She weighed the odds and it wasn't on her side. She was barely in good form. Even if she was, she had no head tie or veil.

Laila sat by the edge of the floor, her legs dangling in the air as she stared at the greens surrounding a space.

She didn't know how long she sat there, calculating how she'd start living as a widow if he didn't make it.

How was she going to start living, again?