Too Late

                                    

                                          
Black.
                          
The colour of coal.
                          
The colour of night.
                          
The colour of pain. Darkness.
                          
The very same colour that tore them apart. And today, it was the colour she wore right before his memorial service.
                          
She crouched down beside the vanity, staring blankly at the wedding pictures that littered the top. Now that she thought about it, their love story was scandalous; a young, black, Zulu woman who ran off with a white man during the apartheid regime.
                          
Her peers were not happy, the remaining of her family were disappointed. But none of that mattered. She was n love with the man, and he loved her just as equally if not more.
                          
They moved settled in England in 2000 after travelling the world together, and they lived as happily as any people in love did. But it was not all gold; his family despised her because of her skin colour as well as her ranking status. Alastair was a rich man on his own, and yet, she was the poorest; and was only classy because of him.
                          
They distanced themselves from him and cut contact after he chose her over them. It was supposed to make things better, they were supposed to be happier and their love was to grow. But instead, five years into their freedom, more problems arose, and before they both knew it; things fell apart and they grew apart until they were nothing more than strangers.
                          
This house was one of their greatest memories together; Alastair had bought it for her after she showed interest in it; while at the same time, it was the beginner of all her nightmares.
                          
A lone tear rolled down her face, and then more tears followed, and before she knew it; her body shook furiously with her sobs.
                          
"I'm sorry!" She wailed, clutching the ends of the bedsheets with her remaining strength. "I'm sorry, I should have...I should have–" Another sob teared at her, and her cries echoed throughout the room.
                          
She was hurting, her heart searing as if exposed to strong acids; it felt as if something was tearing her heart, as if her it was detaching from the walls of her chest. There was nothing to compare this pain too; she had known pain in the past, but it could never amount to this. The last time she said goodbye to Alastair, she was hurt a lot, but this time; this time it was final. Alastair was not in the streets hoping for a miracle to save him, he was gone; dead. 
                          
If only she could go back in time and fix things, she would.
                          
Footsteps sounded from outside the room, and she quietened her cries to whimpers. She heard the person stop outside her door, followed by silence. There was no one in the house besides her, she had made sure that all the children were adopted or sent to other orphanages a week after a visit from the Mexicans, and never took in any other child from then.
                          
"Iya." (Mother) She shut her eyes tightly, silent tears slipping down her face. "Can I come in?" He asked and opened the door without waiting for permission.
                          
"Olufe." She whispered the moment he entered the room. Olufe did not waste time, he crouched down beside her and pulled her into a hug.
                          
"Mo wa binu, Mama. Ma binu, se o gbo. (I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry)" He said in Yoruba, placing a tender kiss on her head while she cried in his arms. 
                          
Olufe was adopted the same time as MJ, but remained under Sandra's care while MJ moved into Alastair's house a few months later. He was a young man from Yoruba who got lost in the streets when his father got deported, Sandra had found him while she was searching for Alastair; trying to convince him to come back home.
                          
"Where is everyone else? Why are you here all alone?" He asked.
                          
"MJ is not feeling well; she has a fever; I doubt she will come to the memorial service." She said as she took him in. He was a 20-year-old, dark in complexion, tall even when sitting down; he was wearing a black suit and black shirt, matching her black dress and headscarf.
                          
"Speaking of, there is a woman and man downstairs. They say they are MJ's friends." He said, and Sandra frowned.
                          
"MJ has no friends." She said as a matter of fact.
                          
"Exactly my thought." He agreed. "I found them parked outside the yard." He explained as he stood up from the floor. "I will keep an eye on them while you freshen up." He helped her up and then left.
                          
Sandra washed her face and fixed her clothes before she went downstairs, only to be greeted by a pair faces she did not know. There was an elderly woman, her skin looked like that of the Mexicans that came to see her on the day of Alastair's death, she had green eyes and long brownish-greyish hair; while the man looked like he was in his late twenties with odd brown eyes with a hint of green, he had an exotic yet powerful look, he stood tall in his dark suits; his aura sending alarm bells in her head, something about him rubbed her off the wrong way.
                          
As if sensing that she was not going to move from where she stood, he approached her with his hand held out. "I'm Logan Parker." He said in a deep and calculated voice, and shook her hand. 
                          
"I'm Sandra Cooper." She said monotonously and pulled her hand out of his, folding her arms over her chest.
                          
Logan took a step back and slipped his hands into his pockets. "That is Antonina Dos Santos, my business partner." He said, gesturing Antonina forward with his head.
                          
"Hi." Antonina greeted warmly. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
                          
"Thank you." Sandra returned with a small smile. "Uhm...if you don't mind, we were already on our way out. I'm sure you are here for the memorial service." 
                          
Antonina and Logan exchanged a brief look before Logan turned his attention to Sandra. "Actually," he cleared his throat. "We were hoping to see MJ." He said.
                          
Sandra pursed her lips together. "MJ is not here." She said in a hard voice.  "I'm sure you know where the memorial service is being held." She said dismissively. Olufe looked at her, but did not say anything.
                          
Logan frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but Antonina took his hand, distracting him. "We will meet you there." She said and dragged Logan out of the house.
                          
"Iya–" Olufe spoke, but she did not give him a chance to finish.
                          
"I don't like them, especially the man." She said before she jogged up the stairs.