Betrayed On My Wedding Eve Chapter 18

Betrayed On My Wedding Eve Chapter 18

I first met Julian at the refugee camp in Goma.

The eastern DR Congo was in chaos at the time. Armed groups were attacking villages over mineral resources, ethnic conflict, old grudges. Hundreds of thousands of people had fled to the cities.

When I reached the camp, a group of doctors were treating a little girl. She’d been caught in an explosion and a small stone had lodged in her ear. She wouldn’t hold still. No one could get a grip on the situation.

Someone called out: “Julian!”

An Asian man came over.

He assessed things quickly. Then from his white coat, he produced a deck of cards. And did a magic trick. Right there, on the spot.

The girl went completely still, watching.

The doctor beside him moved fast. When the stone clinked into the metal dish, the cards in Julian’s hands had vanished. In their place was an African violet.

The girl’s eyes went wide. She grabbed at his sleeves looking for the secret. Found nothing.

She clapped and pulled her parents over, shouting, delighted.

Julian gave her the flower. He walked the grateful adults out of the medical tent.

I raised my camera and got the shot.

The shutter made him turn.

He saw me and looked surprised.

In French: “Not many Asian faces around here. Where are you from?”

“New York.”

His face lit up. He switched to English, grinning.

His name was Julian. He was an MSF physician based in Goma.

I thought of what I’d just seen.

“Where did you get the flower?”

Flowers weren’t exactly common in a refugee camp.

He looked slightly proud of himself.

“I grow them. Want to see?”

I followed him to his quarters. He’d built a small garden from found materials: foam boxes, plastic bottles, broken tiles. African violets, agapanthus, tropical orchids, Congolese wild azalea.

“Why do you grow these?”

He put his feet up on the desk like it was obvious.

“Because flowers make people happy.”

I must have looked skeptical.

He smiled.

“I know what you’re thinking. Food, clean water, medicine. Those are the urgent things. Flowers are frivolous, right?”

I nodded.

“Here, everything pushes people to forget that anything good exists. But happiness reminds people they’re still alive. That there’s still something worth looking forward to.

“Where there’s hope, there’s a future.”

He tilted his head, eyes bright.

“So flowers matter too.”

Something in me shifted.

I looked at this man who was unreasonably optimistic, warm, and completely his own person.

And couldn’t look away.