“I know you didn’t. You were dealing with so much and I was just a foreign student with nothing to offer. How could I tell you I loved you when you were working yourself to exhaustion just to survive? What could I give you? I was living on student loans and eating ramen noodles for dinner.”
I sat down my teacup with trembling hands.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I tried to once. Do you remember the night before my rotation ended? We were in the cafeteria and you were telling me about your plans, how you wanted to eventually become a nurse practitioner. You looked so tired, so worn down by everything you were carrying alone.”
The memory came flooding back. It had been late, probably around midnight.
We’d been studying together, or rather, I’d been helping him prepare for his final exam while I reviewed charts for my own patients. He’d seemed nervous that night, fidgety in a way that wasn’t like him.
“You started to say something,” I said slowly. “But then my pager went off. There was an emergency in pediatrics.”
“A little girl with asthma,” he said softly. “You ran off to help. And by the time you came back, I’d lost my nerve. The next morning, I was gone.”
“You just disappeared. I went to find you to say goodbye. But they said you’d already left. I always wondered what happened to you.”
He reached across the table and gently took my hand. His skin was warm and I could feel calluses that spoke of work despite his obvious wealth.
“I couldn’t say goodbye to you properly. I knew if I looked into your eyes one more time, I wouldn’t have been able to leave, and I had to leave. My family expected me to return home to fulfill my obligations here.”
“What obligations?”
“My father owned several businesses, including a small hospital. I was his only son and it was my duty to take over. I came back to Dubai and threw myself into work trying to forget you, but I never could.”
I stared at him, trying to process what he was telling me.
“You thought about me all these years?”
“Every day.”
His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of my hand.
“I built the first hospital in your honor, though no one knew it. I named the pediatric wing after you, Gretchen’s Garden, though I told everyone it was named after my grandmother. Every time I walked through those halls, I thought about how you would have loved working there. How your kindness would have touched so many children’s lives.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Rasheed…”
“I married once,” he continued, his voice growing heavy. “A woman my family chose for me. She was beautiful, well educated, from a good family. I thought I could learn to love her, that it would be enough. But I couldn’t give her my whole heart because you still had it. She knew. After 3 years, she left me for a man who could love her the way she deserved.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head.
“Don’t be. She found happiness. And I learned that some hearts can only love one person completely. After that, I focused on my work, on building something meaningful. I expanded the hospital, opened two more, invested in medical research. I told myself it was enough.”
And now he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to my palm.
“Now I discover that the woman I never stopped loving has been struggling alone all these years while her own son treats her like garbage. It breaks my heart, Gretchen. You deserved so much more.”
I pulled my hand free, suddenly overwhelmed.
“This is too much, Rashid. 40 years have passed. We’re different people now. I’m 66 years old. My son hates me. I have nothing to offer you.”
“You have everything to offer me,” he said firmly. “You’re still the woman who worked three jobs to support her child. Still the woman who stayed late to help a struggling foreign student with his English. Still the woman who chose sacrifice over selfishness every single day. That’s who you are, Gretchen. Not what your son did to you.”
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned.
“It’s my assistant. There’s something urgent at the hospital.”
He looked up at me apologetically.
“I’m sorry. I need to take this call. We’ll continue this conversation when I return.”
I nodded, needing time to process everything he told me.
As he walked away speaking rapidly in Arabic, I sat in the beautiful garden trying to make sense of my emotions.
Here was a man who’d loved me for 40 years, who’d built an empire while thinking of me every day. Meanwhile, I’d spent those same 40 years sacrificing everything for a son who’d thrown me away the moment it became convenient.
I thought about all the chances I’d missed because I was afraid to put myself first.
Harold, the accountant who’d wanted to marry me when Quincy was 12. I’d turned him down because I thought it would confuse my son.
David, the teacher who’d asked me out when Quincy was in college. I’d said no because I thought I needed to be available if my son needed me.
How many opportunities for love and happiness had I given up for a child who would eventually abandon me on the streets of a foreign country?
When Rasheed returned 20 minutes later, his expression was troubled.
“I am afraid I have some news about your son,” he said carefully. “My security team has been monitoring the situation and it appears Quincy and his wife are still in Dubai. They’re staying at a hotel downtown and from what we can gather, they’re having some difficulties.”
“What kind of difficulties?”
“The credit card they used was maxed out. They can’t afford to stay much longer and they don’t have enough money for flights home. It seems your son’s plan wasn’t as well thought out as he believed.”
A cold satisfaction filled my chest.
“Good.”