Chapter 42

Rani’s Point Of View

The smell of warm bread and cardamom-spiced tea lingered in the air as the morning sun spilled through the tall windows of our dining area. The table was already set, sliced fruit in glass bowls, a tray of soft labneh and flatbreads, and Lamia’s espresso sitting untouched beside her phone. I was seated with Rebecca cradled against my chest in one arm while I attempted to slice melon with the other. Lamia was next to me, flipping through something on her iPad with one hand and absently brushing her fingers through my hair with the other, her sleepy affection wordless but steady.

Faisal was in his booster seat, crumbs all over his cheeks as he attacked his eggs with the confidence of a king and the coordination of a toddler. Nina hovered near the kitchen, humming to herself while watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Then came the familiar buzz of the elevator. It chimed once, and we all paused, not out of surprise, but from that subtle shift in energy that always followed when someone unexpected dropped by. A second later, the door slid open, and in walked none other than Tito Jazed.

Dressed in his crisp blue office shirt and navy trousers, still smelling faintly of oud and car leather, he entered the room with the confidence of a man who owned every space he walked into… and the warmth of a grandfather who was far too excited to see his baby granddaughter again.

“I came to visit my apo before heading to the office,” he announced, his voice a mix of authority and sweetness as he walked toward us.

“Babba,” Lamia greeted, standing slightly from her seat to kiss him on both cheeks.

“Good morning, Babba,” I added, smiling up at him.

“Morning, anak,” he greeted me just as warmly before his eyes shifted, like radar to the soft bundle in my arms.

And of course, within seconds, his hands were outstretched. “Come to Jiddi, little princess,” he cooed gently, his voice dipping into that tone only reserved for babies.

I chuckled and carefully handed Rebecca over to him, her tiny head nestled against his shoulder as he held her like something sacred. His large hands looked impossibly gentle as he swayed slightly, his face softened in a way I’d only ever seen when he was around our children.

“There she is,” he whispered with pride. “Mashallah. My granddaughter. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Lamia, still sipping her coffee now, rolled her eyes playfully but with a fond smile tugging at her lips. “Babba,” she drawled, setting her cup down. “Don’t get too obsessed with your princess.”

“I’m already obsessed,” Tito Jazed replied without missing a beat, his eyes still locked on Rebecca like he was memorizing every breath she took. “You gave me grandson for two years, Lamia. And having a princess from my favorite child makes me happy. Of course I’m obsessed.”

I tried not to laugh as I caught Lamia’s expression, equal parts smug and eye-roll.

“She already has everyone wrapped around her tiny fingers,” I said, leaning my chin on my hand as I watched them. “Even Faisal’s been giving her his cookies. Voluntarily.”

“She’s a queen,” Tito Jazed said seriously, still rocking gently. “A real one. Look at her… so calm, so elegant.”

“She’s asleep, Babba,” Lamia pointed out dryly. “She’s not giving a State of the Union.”

Tito Jazed gave a chuckle and waved her off, unfazed. “Doesn’t matter. That’s what makes her powerful. Even asleep, she’s commanding our full attention.”

He kissed Rebecca’s forehead gently, whispering something in Arabic I didn’t catch. Probably a prayer or a blessing. Maybe both.

I felt my chest tighten, not out of sadness or worry, but from that deep, almost aching kind of gratitude. Seeing them like this, watching Lamia’s stern, sharp-edged father completely melt in the presence of our baby girl, it reminded me how much had changed.

How much we had built.

From chaos to this.

From fights in cold apartments to peaceful breakfasts in our home, with two kids and a father-in-law who used to intimidate me now grinning like he just won the lottery.

Faisal, meanwhile, pointed a syrup-coated finger toward his grandfather. “Jiddi, play?”

Babba looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Not now, Faisal. I have to go to work soon. But maybe later we can play with your robots again, hm?”

“Red robot,” Faisal declared.

“Of course,” He nodded solemnly. “Always the red one.”

Lamia leaned back in her seat and watched the exchange, her hand reaching for mine under the table and lacing our fingers together. Her thumb brushed the inside of my palm softly, like it always did when she was in one of her rare unguarded moods.

“Don’t say anything cheesy,” she whispered to me without looking.

I smirked. “Too late. I was about to say this feels like a scene from a dream.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, though I could see the smile tugging at her lips again.

And in front of us, her Babba… this proud, towering man kept swaying gently with our daughter in his arms like she was the center of his world.

——

The bedroom was softly lit, curtains drawn halfway to dim the morning light, and the faint hum of the city filtered in through the windows. After Babba left, still with a lingering kiss on Rebecca’s forehead and a dramatic promise to visit again tomorrow, we finally had the room to ourselves again. Nina was with the babies. Manang Sally was cleaning up downstairs. The penthouse felt… ours.

Lamia stood near the mirrored closet, one hand on her waist as she examined her heels lined neatly on the bottom shelf. She was in nothing but a silk robe, the satin catching the light and skimming down her back like a second skin. I was already in my towel, freshly out of the shower, but something about the way she moved, the way her fingers grazed a nude stiletto, distracted and unbothered, made my heart stutter a little.

It had been a while since I looked at her like that. Not just as Lamia the mother, or Lamia the CEO, but Lamia… my wife. My woman.

I padded across the room quietly, slowly, until I stood just behind her, the scent of her perfume, delicate amber and warm sandalwood filling my lungs.

She didn’t turn around. “Which one, babe?” she asked, lifting one heel in each hand. One beige Valentino, the other her black open-toe Saint Laurent. “If I wear this nude one, my legs look longer, but the black one matches my bag.”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I slid my arms around her waist from behind, letting my hands roam over the silk that clung to her hips. Her body tensed just slightly, but she didn’t stop me. She tilted her head a bit, and I took that as permission to let my lips press lightly against her neck, just where her skin was warm and smooth.

“Rani…” Her voice dipped. Warning? Curious? Wanting? I couldn’t tell.

“I want to take a bath,” I whispered against her skin, “but with you.”

Her breath hitched a little, just enough for me to feel it through her back.

“I already showered this morning,” she murmured, still not turning around, but I could see the way her eyes flicked up to the mirror in front of us, watching me.

“Then consider this a second rinse,” I teased, fingers moving slowly down her waist, across the curve of her hip. “Come on… we haven’t had a bath together in months.”

“You said you were too tired after feeding Rebecca,” she said softly, almost challengingly.

“I got energy back,” I replied, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Maybe because you look too good in this robe. Maybe because I miss seeing you like this… soft. Just mine.”

She finally turned then, slowly, her eyes scanning my face with that unreadable expression she always wore when she was trying to hide how much she liked being wanted.

“Wow,” she whispered with a smirk. “You really just touched me because you want me to get into the bathtub with you?”

“I really just touched you,” I said, voice lower, “because I want to undress you, take you into the water, and stay there until we forget what day it is.”

She stared at me, unblinking, amused, tempted and then finally raised a brow. “And what if I still haven’t decided which heels I want to wear for later?”

I leaned in until our lips were almost touching. “Then we’ll bring both pairs into the bathroom and let you decide while I’m massaging your legs in the tub.”

Her eyes fluttered slightly. And for a second, I thought she’d say something smart again. But instead, she exhaled slowly, tossed both heels onto the bed, and said, “Turn on the water. I’m not waiting until it gets cold.”

I grinned and kissed her fully this time, slow, deep, hungry, before pulling away and heading toward the bathroom with her hand still in mine.

This day just got a whole lot better.

The sound of the marble floor beneath our bare feet echoed softly as we made our way into the bathroom. The space was warm with steam now, the tub filling steadily with water, and the scent of jasmine bath oil… my favorite, already curling in the air like silk. I had poured it in just moments before, swirling it with my hand like I was preparing something sacred.

Lamia stood near the counter, watching me with a lazy kind of focus, her robe still on but hanging loose at the shoulders now. Her hair was tied up in that messy, effortless bun she always did when she was home, casual, but somehow still so impossibly sexy. My eyes traced her reflection in the mirror: the lines of her neck, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers toyed idly with the sash of her robe.

I walked back to her, not rushing. Just… savoring.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, lips quirking as her gaze met mine in the mirror.

I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist again, this time skin to skin. “Of course I am.”

“You’re clingy today,” she said, but there was no irritation in her voice just quiet amusement.

“Because I can be,” I said against her shoulder. “Because we’re home now. Because the babies are safe and we’re not in a hospital room anymore. And because I missed this.”

I moved her hair gently over one shoulder and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, letting my lips linger there before trailing down. I felt her melt a little against me. Her hands reached for mine at her waist, her fingers slipping through mine slowly, like she wasn’t quite ready to let go of the robe yet but maybe she would, if I asked just right.

“Let me,” I whispered.

She didn’t answer, but she let me pull the sash loose. The silk slipped open easily, parting like water, and I helped her slide it down her arms, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. She wasn’t shy, she never really was, but there was something reverent about the way she stood there for a beat, letting me take her in like a painting I’d missed.

When she turned to face me fully, her hands came to rest on my waist. Her eyes scanned my face, my mouth, my still-damp collarbone. I was only in a towel, which now felt entirely unnecessary.

“I should’ve made you wait another week,” she said, but her tone was too soft to be serious.

“You would’ve caved after three days,” I replied with a slow smile.

“Two,” she admitted.

Then I stepped backward, pulling her with me gently toward the tub, my fingers laced with hers. We didn’t rush. It wasn’t that kind of moment. This wasn’t frenzy or desperation, this was us, after everything. A quiet kind of intimacy, something earned, something that bloomed even stronger after birth and exhaustion and 4AM cries.

We stepped into the water together. Warmth rose around us like a blanket, soft and comforting, and she sighed the moment she sank down. I followed, settling behind her, drawing her into my arms so her back rested against my chest.

The tub wasn’t massive, but it was just the right size to hold us like this, tangled, close, wrapped in heat and scent and silence. I let my arms curve around her middle, hands resting over her stomach. She leaned her head back on my shoulder and closed her eyes.

For a long moment, we didn’t speak.

I let my fingers trace slow patterns on her thigh, my chin tucked lightly into the crook of her neck. The hum of the world outside dimmed. All I could hear was the occasional drip from the faucet, the soft sound of her breathing, the fluttering of our heartbeats… hers and mine.

“Don’t ever leave me, Lamia,” I said softly, without thinking. My voice almost surprised me.

Her eyes opened slowly. She didn’t shift, didn’t pull away.

“I wouldn’t know how,” she answered.

And just like that, my whole body relaxed again.

We stayed like that, half-submerged in the water, limbs tangled, hearts pressed together in silence. My hand moved slowly over her stomach, then up along her ribs, her collarbone, before resting gently against her heart. It was beating steady. So steady.

“I love you,” I whispered against her temple.

She reached up and took my hand in hers, squeezing once.

“I know,” she murmured. “I feel it every time you touch me.”

——

The scent of clinical sterility mixed with expensive skin creams greeted us the moment we stepped into Dra. Herrera’s clinic. Everything was pristine, white walls, minimalist décor, gold accents, and soft instrumental music humming in the background like a lullaby for the wealthy. The receptionist immediately stood up upon seeing Lamia, greeting her with an enthusiastic “Good morning, Ma’am Lamia!” before her eyes darted to me, widening slightly.

I was in an oversized cardigan over my silk dress, hair in a loose bun, minimal makeup, just enough to hide the fatigue of breastfeeding at 2 AM. Lamia, on the other hand, looked like she came out of an editorial, high ponytail, big sunglasses, YSL heels that clicked with authority on the marble tiles. But her hand was wrapped around mine, fingers laced like she wasn’t trying to prove anything, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The receptionist buzzed us in, and the glass door to the treatment area slid open with a soft hush.

“Lamia,” came the familiar voice.

Dra. Herrera herself emerged from the hallway wearing her usual tailored ivory coat and nude pumps, clipboard in one hand, her other gesturing open with fondness. She was in her early forties, eternally polished, the kind of woman who spoke with the calm confidence of someone who’d seen every skin concern under the sun and solved them with laser precision.

But today, her composure gave way to warm surprise.

“Rani!” she gasped, eyes lighting up as they landed on me. “You came with her!”

I blinked, smiling politely as she walked up to us. “Hi, Dra…”

“Oh my god,” she said, stepping forward like she was going to hug me but stopped herself, laughing instead. “I’ve been bugging Lamia for months to bring you here! And now, look at you, glowing, fresh from birth! My goodness, congratulations!”

I let out a soft laugh, placing my hand gently on my chest. “Thank you. It’s been… a ride.”

“She gave birth just last week,” Lamia said proudly, arm now lazily wrapping around my waist. “And she’s already complaining about clogged pores.”

“Don’t say that in front of a dermatologist,” I whispered, nudging Lamia with my elbow, mortified.

But Dra. Herrera just laughed again, eyes crinkling at the edges. “That’s normal! You should see some of my other post-partum clients, hormones can be unforgiving.”

“She’s still gorgeous though,” Lamia added, squeezing my hip. “Even when she’s sleep-deprived and yelling at the bottle sterilizer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make me sound like a disaster.”

“She’s not,” Lamia said under her breath, leaning in a little, her voice almost too soft for anyone else to hear. “She’s the most beautiful woman in the room.”

I didn’t respond right away. My cheeks burned, and I could feel Dra. Herrera watching us with a smile that said she was used to seeing power couples, but maybe not quite like us.

“I’m just happy you finally brought her,” she said, flipping through her clipboard as she stepped aside, motioning us down the hallway. “Come, I’ll put you both in Room 2. You’re doing the diamond peel, Lamia?”

“Yeah, and we’ll get our nails done after this,” Lamia said casually. “Rani’s insisting we don’t go to the derma and leave with dry cuticles.”

“Because we need to maintain,” I muttered, half-laughing. “We have children now, not an excuse to forget ourselves.”

Dra. Herrera grinned as she opened the door to Room 2, which was as lavish as ever, plush treatment beds, diffused lighting, high-end beauty machines arranged like a spaceship. “I wish all moms were like you two. You’re the definition of ‘still serving even after childbirth.'”

“She’s always been that,” Lamia said, sliding off her coat and handing it to the assistant who appeared beside her like clockwork. “Even when she was pregnant, she wore heels to brunch and yelled at delivery riders for bringing the wrong brand of coconut water.”

“Because hydration is important,” I said with a straight face, folding my cardigan and placing it on the small velvet chair in the corner.

Everyone laughed. Lamia just looked at me like she could devour me.

The assistant gestured for her to lie on the treatment bed, and as Lamia did, I took a seat near her, crossing my legs and watching as they began prepping her face. There was something amusing and oddly calming about seeing my wife, this big-deal CEO, this elegant storm of a woman tucked under a towel with her hair wrapped, about to be scrubbed and buffed like a precious gem.

“You should come next week,” Dra. Herrera said to me while adjusting the settings on the machine. “When you’re more rested. I’ll give you the works, facial, glow infusion, even a little laser if you want.”

I smiled, nodding. “I’d love that.”

Lamia glanced at me from under the towel. “I’m booking it now.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I’m booking it,” she repeated, deadpan.

I sighed, biting back a smile as I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms.

Dra. Herrera had just finished adjusting the settings on the diamond peel device, her gloved fingers moving with gentle confidence as she applied a thin layer of cooling gel on Lamia’s cheek. The machine gave off a soft hum, like the sound of skincare magic beginning to happen.

She glanced at me with a warm grin, then said casually, “Kumusta na si Faisal?”

My heart fluttered at the name. I chuckled softly, adjusting my seat. “Oh, still ruling the living room with his robots and mess.”

Lamia laughed under her breath, her voice slightly muffled from beneath the treatment towel. “And my heels. Don’t forget the heels. He used them as firetrucks last week.”

Dra. Herrera grinned like she could already picture it. “He’s two now, right?”

“Two and already negotiating bedtime like he’s in parliament,” I said, lifting a brow. “Last night he said, ‘Just one more episode’ while clutching his toy sword.”

“Honestly, you two have him so spoiled,” Dra. Herrera said, mock-scolding but affectionate. “But I can’t blame you. He’s too cute.”

“Too cute and too aware of it,” Lamia added, eyes closed but her tone sharp with amusement. “He knows how to manipulate everyone already… especially Nina.”

“Poor Nina,” I laughed. “He makes her sit beside him every time he eats, like he’s some tiny emperor.”

“She doesn’t even mind,” Lamia murmured, voice relaxing into something fond. “She feeds him while he lectures her about why green beans are evil.”

I giggled, leaning back in the chair. “Last week, he told me he didn’t like broccoli because it looked ‘too sad.'”

Dra. Herrera let out a delighted laugh as she gently guided the diamond tip along Lamia’s jawline. “He’s creative. You’ve got a little genius on your hands.”

“Or a little drama king,” I muttered, shaking my head. “He fake-cries now. With full performance. One time I told him no snacks before dinner, he collapsed on the carpet like he just got exiled.”

“I think he gets it from his mama,” Lamia said with a smirk, eyes still closed but clearly enjoying herself.

“Oh please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If he gets it from anyone, it’s you. The drama is genetic. I’ve seen you throw a full tantrum when our takeout was late.”

“Excuse me,” she said calmly, “that was not a tantrum. That was righteous indignation.”

Dra. Herrera snorted. “You two are really something else.”

I smiled, glancing over at Lamia on the bed, her features so relaxed, the tension that usually clung to her jaw and brow almost completely gone. It was rare seeing her like this, unguarded, soft, joking without keeping score.

“Our household is a circus,” I said, softly now. “But it’s our circus.”

“And Faisal’s the main act,” Lamia added, smiling without opening her eyes. “He wakes up demanding pancakes, and if he doesn’t get blueberries, he says, ‘This is not the one I wanted, mama.’ Like he’s on a cooking show.”

“He’s obsessed with Gordon Ramsay,” I said. “Which is your fault, by the way.”

“Hey,” she said, “he should learn high standards early.”

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand, just watching Lamia as the machine glided across her skin.

“Rebecca’s the calm one though,” I said, smiling to myself. “She’s just… sweet. Like she knows she has to balance him out.”

“She’s our little peace treaty,” Lamia murmured.

“She’s our little miracle,” I corrected.

Silence fell over us for a few seconds, not awkward or heavy, just full. Like the kind of silence that’s earned between two people who’ve weathered too much and still somehow came out softer.

Dra. Herrera finally pulled back from Lamia’s face, peeling off her gloves. “There,” she said, satisfied. “As glowy as ever.”

Lamia slowly opened her eyes, blinking up at the light. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who sleeps eight hours and never yells at courier riders,” I teased.

“She looks perfect,” Dra. Herrera agreed. “As always.”

Lamia sat up slowly, brushing her fingers down her neck. She looked at me and smiled, slow, genuine, the kind of smile that only made sense after years of building a life, a home, and a family together.

And in that moment, I knew even in all the chaos, with robots flying, baby bottles clinking, tantrums, and early morning feedings… we were okay.

——

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Lamia and I stepped out into the foyer of our penthouse. I was mid-sentence saying something about rescheduling our nail appointment for next week when I paused, brows knitting together.

I could hear giggles.

Loud ones.

Tiny footsteps. A familiar squeal. And…

Was that Kristof’s voice?

I glanced at Lamia.

She raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me you’re not hiding a house party from me.”

I shook my head slowly, confused, and we both padded toward the living room, our heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The moment we turned the corner, I froze.

“Boom! You’re a robot now!” Faisal was standing on top of the couch, waving one of his cardboard weapons while Queen the ever-patient and dramatic theater girl she was clutched her chest like she was dying in a scene from Les Misérables.

“Nooo! Not again!” Queen cried dramatically, tumbling into the cushions.

Kristof was on the rug in a full split, wearing sunglasses indoors, holding a toy phone like he was the CEO of Hasbro. “Someone get this child an agent! He’s a star!”

Meanwhile, Patricia was holding Rebecca on her lap, feeding her a bottle with a softness I hadn’t seen from her since she cried at my wedding.

“What the…” I blinked hard. “What are you all doing here?”

Kristof whipped his sunglasses off. “Oh! Look who finally came back from their mommy-and-mommy spa day.”

Queen popped her head up from the couch. “You’re not checking our group chat again, are you?”

Patricia didn’t even look up, just calmly burped Rebecca over her shoulder. “We said we were visiting you two days ago, Rani.”

I blinked again, still trying to process the chaos in front of me. “Wait… you did?”

Kristof stood, dusting invisible lint off his colorful pants. “Yes! We made a full plan. We were gonna surprise you yesterday but then someone…” he glanced pointedly at me “…didn’t reply at all so we pushed it to today.”

Queen stood too, pointing dramatically like she was presenting a case in court. “You literally left us on seen. Like we don’t exist.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned, dragging a palm down my face. “I haven’t opened the group chat since Rebecca was born, I’m so sorry…”

“That’s what we figured,” Patricia said kindly, walking over to me and gently handing me Rebecca. “So we came to you.”

I looked down at Rebecca now nestled in my arms again. She gave a soft sigh and curled against my chest like she knew I needed grounding.

Lamia leaned beside me, her arms crossed but clearly amused. “They’ve been here for long?”

“Just an hour or so,” Patricia replied, brushing hair off her shoulder. “Nina let us in. She looked relieved to hand over Faisal for a while.”

“Relieved?” I echoed, glancing around the room. “You mean… she left?”

“She’s probably on the mall right now,” Kristof said. “Girl deserves it. Your toddler has energy.”

Faisal zipped past again, sword in hand. “Mama Queen, hide!”

Queen shrieked, diving behind a throw pillow. “I have fallen again!”

Lamia burst into a low laugh and leaned closer to my ear. “You attract chaos.”

“I really do,” I whispered.

Kristof clapped his hands. “Okay, okay, but for real, we’re ordering food. Patricia vetoed fast food because apparently Rebecca deserves a clean-bellied mother.”

“I didn’t say that,” Patricia muttered.

“You implied it,” Kristof said, sass fully engaged. “Anyway. We missed you, okay? That’s why we came. Plus…” He looked at Rebecca with a coo. “…we wanted to meet Her Royal Highness.”

“She’s tiny,” Queen whispered dramatically, peeking over the couch like she was seeing a rare gem. “And powerful.”

“She rules us all,” Kristof said solemnly, bowing.

I laughed so hard I had to sit down, Rebecca giggling softly in my arms like she could feel the joy vibrating around us.

Lamia knelt beside me, brushing a hair from my cheek.

“You needed this,” she murmured.

I nodded, heart so full I could barely hold it in.

Lamia stood up from the couch and stretched slightly, her back arching just enough to make me glance.

“I’m getting our princess from the nursery,” she said softly, already moving with purpose as she reached for the soft pink baby wrap folded neatly on the edge of the armchair. “She’s probably already done with her nap.”

I smiled, watching the way her fingers smoothed the fabric like second nature. There was something incredibly grounding in the way Lamia handled things, motherhood, our home, me. Calm but firm. Like a quiet storm that made you feel safe.

“She probably is,” I murmured. “You know Rebecca doesn’t like to nap too long if we’re not around.”

“She has your clinginess,” Lamia called over her shoulder with a smirk, walking toward the hallway.

I rolled my eyes, half-laughing. “She has your dramatic sighs and sleeping face.”

Lamia just waved a hand in mock surrender as she disappeared into the nursery hallway, and I turned back toward the living room where my friends were still splayed across the couches like they owned the place.

I reached for the small gold intercom panel beside the bar counter and pressed the button.

“Manang Sally?” I said into the mic.

“Po, Ma’am Rani?” came her ever-soft voice.

“Can you cook something for merienda, please? I think my friends are staying for a while.”

“Sige po. Ihahanda ko na po ‘yung lumpiang shanghai at yung buttered prawns. May fruit salad rin po.”

“Perfect,” I smiled. “Thank you, Manang.”

“Walang ano man po, Ma’am.”

I clicked off the intercom just in time to feel Kristof dramatically flop onto the couch beside me, throwing one of Faisal’s plush toys at Queen, who squawked and ducked, causing the pillow fort to collapse halfway.

“Okay,” Kristof said in full telenovela tone. “Spill. How are you really?”

Patricia raised one eyebrow at me from across the coffee table, daintily crossing her legs. “You look fine, but that doesn’t mean you are fine.”

Queen peeked out from under the mess of cushions and added, “And don’t even try to lie. We’re emotionally unstable but highly intuitive.”

I let out a breathy chuckle, folding my leg under me and leaning back against the couch.

“I’m tired,” I said, letting my eyes close for a second. “Like… not just physically tired. But the kind of tired that lives in your bones.”

“Ugh,” Kristof clutched his imaginary pearls. “That’s the worst kind of tired. Existential.”

“But,” I added, opening my eyes again slowly, “I’m also… happy. I think.”

They went quiet.

Queen blinked. “You think?”

I let my eyes drift toward the nursery hallway where Lamia had disappeared. The soft sound of the mobile spinning and lullaby music barely reached us from there.

“I’m still adjusting,” I said quietly. “I mean… I have everything I ever wanted. Lamia. Our kids. This life. And sometimes I sit in the middle of all of it and just… get overwhelmed.”

Patricia tilted her head, her voice gentle. “Because it feels too perfect?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Because it’s real. You know? Like, I used to imagine this in passing. Fantasies. But now I actually wake up with breast pads stuck to my shirt and Faisal yelling about robot pirates and Lamia chasing after him because he broke her lipstick again…”

“Relatable,” Kristof muttered, twirling an invisible strand of hair.

“…and I’m feeding a baby while answering emails and wondering if I even brushed my teeth that day. And sometimes I just pause in the chaos and go, how did I get here? Like… really.”

Silence again, but a warm one. The kind that stretches out and hugs you gently without demanding anything in return.

“I love them so much,” I said after a beat. “It’s terrifying.”

Patricia leaned forward and squeezed my hand. “That just means your heart got bigger.”

“Yeah,” Queen nodded, finally sitting up and re-building her blanket throne. “You’re doing amazing. Don’t even second guess it.”

Kristof raised his fingers like claws and declared, “You’re serving postpartum power.”

“Motherhood glow, babe,” Queen chimed in. “I need to know your highlighter.”

I burst out laughing, so loud and real that it startled me for a second. It bubbled up from somewhere behind my ribs, the kind of laugh that almost made me cry because it felt so good.

“You guys are so annoying,” I said, wiping the corners of my eyes.

“But we’re here,” Kristof beamed. “And we brought siopao.”

Patricia raised an eyebrow. “I brought siopao. Kristof brought a phone full of TikTok thirst traps and bad advice.”

“Excuse me, I brought vibes,” he said, flipping his nonexistent bangs.

That’s when I heard the soft creak of the nursery door again and footsteps returning.

Lamia appeared back in the living room, cradling Rebecca against her chest with the baby wrap already snugly tied around her torso. Our little girl was fast asleep, one hand curled into Lamia’s shirt, her soft cheeks rising and falling gently with each breath.

“She was already stirring,” Lamia said softly, brushing a finger across Rebecca’s hair as she took her seat beside me. “She likes the noise. She missed her chaos.”

“She’s just like her mama,” I said, reaching to gently stroke Rebecca’s foot, which peeked out from the wrap. “Needs to know what’s going on all the time.”

“Already nosy,” Kristof muttered with admiration. “I like her.”

I watched Lamia ease onto the couch beside me, Rebecca still snug against her chest, the baby’s little head tucked right under her chin like they were molded for each other.

The moment I saw Rebecca’s mouth shift and her nose wrinkle a little, those tiny pre-cry signs only a mother can read, I already knew what she needed.

“Give her to me,” I said gently, reaching out. “I’ll breastfeed her.”

Lamia turned her head slightly toward me, eyes softening, and carefully started to untuck the wrap. “She just started stirring, but yeah… I think she’s ready.”

Her voice was low and full of affection, like she was handing me a treasure. And honestly? She was.

I leaned forward, sliding one hand beneath Rebecca’s little body, the other cradling her neck, and brought her into my arms with a practiced tenderness that only got deeper with every feeding, every sleepless night, every breath that girl took in this world.

Rebecca was still half-asleep, blinking slowly up at me with those glassy eyes that seemed to hold a thousand questions for a world she hadn’t even begun to understand. Her fingers curled and uncurled against my collarbone like she was anchoring herself to me, like she knew.

Carefully, I shifted on the couch, adjusting the pillow behind my back and glancing at the throw blanket folded on the armrest. “Patricia, could you hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” she said, already reaching.

Once I had the soft white towel in my lap, I draped it over my shoulder and chest, creating that little tent of privacy I always used, not because I was shy, but because it made Rebecca more comfortable, less distracted.

My fingers slipped beneath the fabric of my top and nursing bra, and within seconds, Rebecca latched on, her lips making that soft, rhythmic sucking sound that always settled something deep in me. She sighed against my skin, like this was exactly where she wanted to be.

And for the thousandth time since she was born, I felt that wave.

That full-body ache of love.

That low, pulsing awareness that I was keeping someone alive with just my body.

“She’s so hungry,” I whispered, eyes on my daughter.

Lamia leaned closer, brushing a finger over Rebecca’s tiny foot. “She always gets that sleepy look when she’s nursing.”

“She looks like you,” I murmured without thinking.

Lamia raised an eyebrow at me playfully. “That’s funny, since you insisted she had your nose last week.”

“She does. But your lips,” I said with a soft smile. “And your temper.”

Kristof made a fake gasp. “She has a temper? At this age?”

“She cries like she’s announcing a royal decree,” Lamia said, grinning. “You’ll see later if Rani tries to pass her to anyone else before she’s full.”

I laughed under my breath, one hand gently stroking Rebecca’s downy head beneath the towel. Her sucking had slowed into that relaxed, content rhythm, her whole body sinking into me like she knew she was safe.

Like I was home.

“She’s perfect,” Queen said suddenly from across the room, her tone a little softer than usual. “Really. I know people always say that about babies, but Rebecca is… she’s really something.”

“She is,” I said, my voice low.

I felt it in my bones, the kind of quiet, sacred knowing that motherhood brings. Not loud. Not boastful. Just… there. Rooted.

“She loves you,” Lamia added softly. “The way she calms the moment you touch her it’s like her whole world makes sense again.”

That pulled at something deep in me. I blinked hard for a second, keeping my eyes on Rebecca’s little face, her rosebud lips still working gently as she nursed.

“She’s my world too,” I said, voice catching.

And for a long while, none of us spoke.

There was just the sound of soft baby breathing. A chair creaking under Kristof’s weight. The quiet hum of the city outside our windows. And the feeling of something whole, something unshakably ours settling into the air.

I shifted Rebecca a little, adjusting the towel with one hand, my other arm still wrapped protectively around her. She was nearly done now, her eyes fluttering closed, her hand resting over my heart like a tiny stamp of ownership.

“She’s going to sleep again,” I whispered.

“And you?” Lamia asked gently, brushing hair from my cheek. “You okay?”

I glanced up at her and nodded. “Now? Yeah. I really am.”

Rebecca was slowly drifting off against my chest, her soft breathing warm and steady under the towel. I could feel the slight weight of her full tummy, the way her body melted into mine like she belonged here… because she did. Because this was our rhythm now. Feed, soothe, hold, repeat. A sacred loop I never knew I would crave so much.

I shifted her slightly, letting her rest deeper against me as her tiny hand relaxed from its curled grip on my necklace. I was just about to tuck the towel in a little more securely when Queen… ever the chaos agent, tilted her head and said with her signature sass,

“You know what’s wild?”

I looked up at her, already grinning because, when Queen said that, it meant something slightly offensive was about to come out of her mouth.

“What?” I asked.

She pointed at me with a perfectly manicured nail. “You. Right now. Breastfeeding a baby. Glowing. Soft-spoken. Domestic. Like… if someone showed me this five years ago, I’d think it was a hallucination.”

Patricia choked on her halo-halo. “Queen!”

“I’m just saying!” Queen said, tossing her hands up. “Rani used to say babies were sticky regrets with legs.”

Kristof burst out laughing. “Wait… she did say that. I remember! At that party in Tagaytay, remember? Rani was like, ‘I don’t even want plants, what more a child.'”

Even I had to laugh, though I rolled my eyes while doing it. “Okay, I was dramatically, and problematical about my lovelife that time.”

“And allergic to girls,” Patricia added with a smirk.

Queen nodded. “We all thought Patricia would be the first to get pregnant, to be honest.”

Patricia placed her hand on her chest. “Excuse me?”

“Oh come on,” Kristof joined in, crossing his legs with flair. “You were always the one dating emotionally unavailable med students. It felt inevitable.”

“Rude,” Patricia muttered, but she was smiling too.

I adjusted Rebecca again and bit my lip, looking down at her. Her little face was so peaceful now, tiny lashes resting against her cheeks, one hand barely peeking out of the towel.

“It’s crazy,” Queen continued, more softly this time, “how we all thought we knew where life was gonna take us. And then suddenly, bam, Rani’s got a whole daughter and a son and this ridiculously perfect wife who looks like she came out of a Vogue Arabia spread.”

My eyes flicked toward the hallway. Lamia still hadn’t returned, but her presence filled the room anyway, like it always did. Like it always would.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little quiet. “I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t wake up one day and think, ‘Hey, I’m gonna become a mom and marry a woman and breastfeed while wearing an oversized Miu Miu shirt.'”

Kristof clutched his chest. “We love growth.”

“But I’m glad,” I added, meeting Queen’s gaze. “That things didn’t go how we expected. That I got this instead.”

Queen’s face softened. “You’re really happy, huh?”

I looked down at Rebecca again, brushing a thumb gently across her cheek as she settled deeper into sleep. She gave the tiniest little snore. My heart ached in the best way.

“I’m exhausted. I’m hormonal. My body’s still recovering. But yeah…” I smiled to myself. “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Patricia stood and walked over to where I was sitting, settling beside me and laying her head lightly on my shoulder. “You’re killing it, Rani. For real.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

Kristof nodded dramatically. “Queen Rani era unlocked. The soft femme CEO mom arc. We love to see it.”

“And I have receipts of all her old rants to prove how far she’s come,” Queen added, pulling out her phone with a wicked grin.

“Delete those,” I said quickly, laughing.

“Never.”

We all fell into laughter then, the room full of comfort, old memories, and the warmth that only long friendships can give. Rebecca snored again, louder this time, and everyone paused.

“Damn, she’s out,” Kristof whispered.

“She takes after her Mama Lamia,” I said, adjusting the towel once more, kissing the top of her head. “Looks like a princess. Sleeps like a lumberjack.”

Laughter again. And in the middle of all of it, with my daughter in my arms and my friends around me, I felt it again…

That anchoring.

That certainty.

This is where I was meant to be.

——

It was around five in the afternoon when the front door finally clicked shut behind my friends, their laughter still echoing faintly in the hallway like perfume that lingered even after they were gone. I heard the elevator doors hum closed, followed by silence, sweet, comforting silence.

I sighed softly, leaning my head back against the headboard, the faint blue light from my laptop screen flickering across my face as I tried to finish the final numbers on the Q2 revenue report of Rani Paragon Enterprises. I had my legs stretched out on the bed, my feet brushing against the soft blanket. My arms cradled the laptop, but my body was tilted slightly to the side, enough for Rebecca to be curled beside me in her little sleep nest, wrapped up like a tiny loaf.

Faisal was lying on the rug in front of the bed with his robot toys scattered all around him, making “zoom zoom” noises as he pushed two mechs into battle. He was wearing one of Lamia’s old shirts, oversized like a little nightgown, and his curls bounced every time he dove dramatically onto a pillow.

And then, there was Lamia.

God, Lamia.

She was stretched beside me, not doing anything except being sweetly, deliberately distracting. Her arm was draped across my stomach, her lips occasionally brushing the exposed skin of my shoulder as she whispered, “Hmm… you smell like jasmine and spreadsheets,” in that deep, teasing voice of hers.

“Lamia,” I muttered, typing numbers furiously into a spreadsheet, “I swear if you kiss me one more time while I’m calculating profit margins…”

“You’ll what?” she whispered, this time pressing a kiss right under my ear. “Tell me about your net profit while I make out with your collarbone?”

I bit back a grin, typing through her distraction even as her hand slid slowly under my shirt, not in a lustful way, but just warm and familiar, her fingertips tracing the slope of my ribs like it was second nature. “I’m trying to finish the Salalah investment report.”

“And I’m trying to love my wife,” she said dramatically, propping her head up with one arm, the other still around me like a human seatbelt. “We both have important jobs.”

I gave her a look. “One of us has payroll to sign off on tonight.”

She leaned forward again, kissed the tip of my nose this time, grinning lazily. “One of us just wants to stare at your pretty face and tell you how hot you look when you’re running a billion-dollar empire in a nursing bra.”

I groaned, pushing the laptop slightly forward on my thighs so I could look at her directly. “Why are you like this today?”

“I missed you,” she said, with no hesitation, no teasing in her voice that time. Just those three words, honest and tender.

I softened. “You were with me the whole day.”

“I know. But you’ve been there,” she pointed to the screen, “all day. In CEO mode. And I get it… I love it, honestly, it’s hot. But I miss the version of you that lets me hold her for no reason.”

My heart thudded softly. I glanced at Rebecca beside me, still asleep, one arm flung up dramatically like a tiny diva and then at Faisal, who was now attempting to put a robot’s head on backwards.

I looked back at Lamia. “Okay,” I murmured, closing the laptop slowly. “You win.”

Her whole face lit up. “Victory is mine.”

She curled closer into me, laying her head just beneath my collarbone and wrapping herself gently around me like a warm shawl. I held her back, combing my fingers slowly through her hair, pressing my lips into her hairline.

“I really do have a few more emails to send later,” I murmured against her forehead.

“I’ll allow it,” she said smugly. “As long as you let me be your blanket for the rest of the evening.”

Faisal suddenly jumped up from the floor, ran to the edge of the bed, and poked Lamia on the arm. “Mama, look! My robot’s tummy open now. Like baby Rebecca tummy.”

Lamia gasped dramatically. “He’s giving birth?!”

Faisal laughed so loud he nearly fell off the rug.

I laughed with him, brushing Lamia’s cheek with my fingers. “You’re ridiculous.”

She turned her head slightly and kissed the center of my palm. “But you love me.”

I looked at her, our daughter between us, our son in front of us, the glow of sunset slowly creeping through the curtains and wrapping our family in light.

And I smiled.

“I do.”

I was still curled into Lamia, her legs tangled gently with mine under the sheets, when her phone, lying somewhere on the nightstand started to buzz softly.

We both froze a little, and I could feel her groan into my skin without even hearing it.

“Let it ring,” Lamia murmured sleepily against my neck.

But it didn’t just ring… it buzzed again. Persistent. Soft, then again. Then once more.

“Lamia,” I whispered with a tiny smirk, pulling slightly back to look at her. “What if it’s something important?”

Her eyes stayed closed, lips brushing my collarbone as she mumbled, “If it’s not the oil rig on fire, I don’t care.”

I stretched my arm over her and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. “Let’s find out.”

She tried to cover her face against my chest dramatically, like she could disappear. “I’m off-duty. I’m officially off-duty. You’re not allowed to drag me back into capitalism.”

I laughed as I turned the phone toward me. “Felicia,” I read aloud. “Calling. Again.”

Lamia groaned so deep it made my chest vibrate. “Why is my secretary always so… secretarial?”

“Because that’s literally her job,” I teased, already sliding my thumb across the screen to answer. “Here, let me handle this.”

Before she could protest, I held the phone to my ear and said in my most professional tone, “Good evening, this is Rani, Lamia’s overly affectionate, deeply clingy wife. How can I direct your call?”

There was a brief silence on the other line, then Felicia’s voice, dry as sand in the desert, said, “Good evening, Ma’am Rani. Noted on the clingy. I’ll include that in my report.”

I stifled a laugh, clutching Lamia closer to me as she tried to peek at the phone screen in horror. “What is she saying?” Lamia whispered, her face half-buried in my shoulder now.

“She says hi and that she’s filing a report on how married you are,” I told her, smirking.

Lamia moaned, collapsing fully on top of me. “Tell her I’m dead. Tell her I’ve resigned and run away with a camel trader.”

“Felicia,” I said sweetly into the phone, “My wife would like you to know that she’s retired and is currently being held hostage by me in our bedroom. Permanently. We regret to inform you she’ll never return to the boardroom.”

Felicia let out the driest sigh I’ve ever heard. “Please tell her the Oman executive team just finalized the new contract. I sent it via email and need her to review it before midnight.”

Lamia groaned louder now, burying her entire face into my neck like she was hoping the mattress would eat her whole. “Felicia. Stop being so efficient.”

“She says you’re too competent and she’s scared of you,” I relayed.

Felicia didn’t even skip a beat. “Duly noted. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ma’am Rani. Kindly remind Ma’am Lamia that signing authority still resides with her and not you, unfortunately.”

“Rude but fair,” I said with a smile. “We’ll check the email. Thank you, Felicia.”

I ended the call, placing the phone gently back on the nightstand before turning to Lamia, who still hadn’t moved.

“She’s right, you know,” I whispered, running my fingers slowly down her back. “You still have to open your email eventually.”

Lamia let out a deep sigh. “I should’ve married someone less organized. Someone who wouldn’t know how to use the phone.”

“But then you wouldn’t get this kind of deluxe, clingy service,” I teased, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Full-body cuddles. Morning breastfeeding visuals. Business-class pillow talk.”

That finally made her laugh, this soft, muffled chuckle that vibrated against my chest. “You’re evil.”

I looked at her, her smile warm and lazy, her cheeks slightly flushed from laughing too hard into my neck.

“You love me, though,” I said with a smirk, lifting her chin slightly with one finger.

“I do,” she replied, kissing my jaw once, twice. “Especially when you answer my phone like an overqualified receptionist.”

We burst out laughing, and she rolled over beside me, her arm still slung across my waist.

Behind us, Faisal was still busy with his robot invasion, now mumbling dramatic lines like “No! Not the tower!” while dragging a pillow across the rug.

Rebecca stirred in her nest, letting out a soft gurgle, her fists opening and closing like she was dreaming of milk.

Our life was loud, and full, and chaotic, and somehow, in this moment, it all felt hilariously perfect.