The Price of Betrayal

— Aïcha… married?

Malik stared at the wall as if the wall could answer.

His mother had talked for a long time. The house emptied piece by piece. The savings counted coin by coin. And one sentence kept turning in his head, refusing to settle:

Aïcha was going to marry another man.

— The day they took you away, his mother murmured, she swore she would wait for you.

Malik shook his head.

Was Aïcha’s family really like that?

He could not believe it.

For three years, in his cell, one single image had kept him standing: Aïcha, in front of the courthouse, her eyes red, mouthing without a sound: "I will wait for you."

He had written to her. Twelve letters the first year. Seven the second.

No answer had ever come.

He had told himself the letters got lost. That someone was intercepting them. Anything, rather than the other explanation.

He decided to find her. That very day. And hear the truth from her own mouth.

That was when someone pounded on the door.

So hard the old panel nearly jumped off its hinges.

His mother froze.

She could no longer see. But she knew that way of knocking among a thousand.

— Mama… who is it?

— It’s nothing. Go into the room. And do not come out, do you hear me?

She pushed him inside, then followed the wall with her fingertips all the way to the door.

A man with a shaved head walked in without waiting. Behind him, four heavyset men covered in tattoos spread out across the yard as if they owned it.

— So, old woman. Is the month’s money ready?

— Bald One… everything is ready, everything is ready…

She nodded several times, bent toward a corner of the room and pulled out a cloth bag she knew by heart.

Outside, neighbours had gathered at a distance.

— Every month they come to help themselves. Every month!

— Is there no law left in this neighbourhood?

— Hush. Keep your voice down. Those are the men of Kevin’s family.

No one dared take another step.

From the room, through the half-open door, Malik watched his mother.

She had bowed before the man even spoke. Her back bent at the right angle. Her smile in the right place. Gestures repeated so many times they had become habits.

How many months? How many times had she bowed like this, blind, before men she could not even see?

Something very cold began to unfold in Malik's chest.

The Bald One snatched the bag from the old woman’s hands and opened it.

— What is this mess?

He turned the bag over with one sharp shake. Worn banknotes scattered across the floor. Small bills. Coins. A whole life counted out in tired money.

— And this is supposed to be a hundred thousand francs?

— Bald One, it is all there, exactly. We counted everything. You can check…

— Check? I don’t have time for that.

His foot lashed out. The old woman crumpled into the dust.

— Next time, you give me large bills.

— Mama!

Malik burst out of the room. He lifted his mother gently, then turned toward the men.

His gaze swept over them, one by one.

A strange cold crossed the yard.

The four men, who had been laughing a second earlier, felt the back of their necks stiffen without knowing why.

— Malik! Who told you to come out? Go back inside, I beg you!

His mother clung to his arm, hands trembling.

— Mama. I am here now. Sit down.

He settled her on a stool, straightened up, and faced the Bald One.

The Bald One looked him over, then sneered.

— Well, well. We know each other. The brick guy. Three years in prison for cracking Kevin’s skull. Out already?

His men burst out laughing.

— You’re right on time, actually. Today is the day your fiancée marries Kevin. At the N’Kora Palace. The finest hotel in the city. Don’t you want to go and watch, you, the ex?

Malik frowned.

— What did you just say?

— I’m telling you. The woman you did three years for is marrying Kevin today. All of N’Kora City will be there. Except you.

The laughter doubled.

Behind Malik, his mother was trembling. With shame. With anger. Her son had gone to prison for Aïcha — and Aïcha was marrying the man who had sent him there.

Malik slowly lowered his head.

When he raised it again, his eyes had changed.

— Kneel. Ask my mother for forgiveness. And maybe I will let you walk away.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

The temperature in the yard seemed to drop all at once, and the laughter died.

Outside, a neighbour stepped back without knowing why.

One of the tattooed men glanced toward the exit.

Only Malik's mother could not see what everyone else saw. She reached out for her son, met empty air, and her worry grew.

— Malik… what is happening? Talk to me…

Malik did not answer. His eyes never left the Bald One.

The Bald One needed a second to understand what he had just heard.

— What did you say? That I should kneel?

He cocked his fist.

In front of him, Malik looked thin. Light. One punch should be enough to lay him in the dust, next to his mother.

The fist split the air.