“Why aren’t you sleeping, my love?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She turned, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I was thirsty. Go back to sleep.”
She said that the next night, and the night after that. Sometimes she would sit motionless in the living room, like a statue, her hands folded in her lap, the television flickering unnoticed. I would sit beside her, the couch sagging under my weight, and ask again, “Are you okay?”
She would always answer with the same gentle lie. “Just a little restless. It’ll pass.”
I tried to brush it off. After all, I was a man who dealt with cash daily; I knew how to count the ordinary from the odd. Yet, a strange unease settled in the pit of my stomach, like a stone that wouldn’t roll away.
One evening, after a long day of haggling over prices, I returned home to find the bathroom trash can overflowing with crumpled paper. I lifted the lid, and there, damp and sticky, lay a handful of U.S. dollars—$1, $5, a few $20s. The paper was soggy, the ink smudged, but unmistakably American. My heart thumped louder than the fan above the sink.
I gathered the bills, smoothed them on the tile, and stared at the green faces. “Where did these come from?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Hawa emerged from the bedroom, her hair still damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. She laughed, the sound bright and dismissive. “Oh, come on, Drissa. That’s your own money. You dropped it, silly.”
I wanted to believe her. I slipped the bills into my pocket, tucked them away, and tried to forget the oddity.
But the night has a way of pulling secrets to the surface.
The Night the Money Came Up
It was past two in the morning when a low, guttural sound ripped through the silence. It wasn’t a scream or a cough; it was a wet, retching noise that seemed to come from the bathroom. I sat up, heart pounding, and felt the cold sheet cling to my skin. The sound grew louder, more frantic, like someone fighting an invisible tide.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the wood creaking under my weight, and padded across the carpeted hallway. The bathroom door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the floor. I pushed it open, and the sight that met my eyes froze my blood.
