Chapter 45

Rani’s Point Of View

It was still dark.

That kind of blue-black hush before dawn, when the world forgets itself in the stillness. No sounds. No movement. Just the occasional hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the soft, slow breathing of Lamia beside me.

I was already awake.

Not because I wanted to be, but because motherhood had turned my body into a clock I couldn’t silence. Rebecca stirred beside the bed in her co-sleeper, her small grunts and sleepy sighs calling me even before she fully woke. I didn’t even need to check the time. My chest already ached, heavy with milk and instinct.

Carefully, I sat up, pushing off the comforter. Lamia didn’t move, still curled on her side, her hand resting on my pillow like she’d been reaching for me in her sleep. I gave her a small glance, messy hair, lips parted, skin glowing from the faint light of the moon that still hung somewhere outside our window. She looked soft. Tired. Beautiful.

I brushed her shoulder with my knuckles gently as I stood, padding over to Rebecca.

My baby girl was already rooting, her nose brushing against the side of the pillow she lay on. Her eyes were barely open, but her mouth knew what it needed. I lifted her slowly, careful not to wake Faisal who was still sleeping in his little bed in the corner of the room, clutching his favorite stuffed sheep.

Rebecca latched easily. A tiny whimper, then silence. Her warmth melted against me. I sat down in the nursing chair by the window, pulling a light blanket over both of us, rocking slowly, instinctively. The kind of motion that only a mother’s body could know.

I closed my eyes for a second. Just a second.

And then…

Buzz.
Ping.

I opened my eyes again. A small light blinked on from across the room.

Lamia’s phone.

It vibrated softly on the nightstand, the sound muffled under a magazine she’d left there last night. I wouldn’t have paid it any attention, except something about it pulled at me. Maybe it was the silence of the hour, or maybe it was the way the light flashed so suddenly in the dark.

I shifted slightly, rocking Rebecca slower, and turned just enough to see the screen.

A single message.

Unknown Number
Update from the patient: Patient was cooperative today. Attended all scheduled therapy sessions, including trauma group and individual counseling. Spoke more openly than previous days. Appetite improving. No episodes of aggression. Sleep remains disturbed but not violent. Will re-evaluate in 3 days for supervised outdoor access.

I didn’t move.

The words just… floated.

Patient.

Therapy sessions.

Supervised outdoor access.

I blinked once, then twice. My arms tightened ever so slightly around Rebecca, who was still nursing peacefully against me. I kept my expression neutral, like someone watching their own heartbeat slow.

That was not a spam message.

That was an update. Detailed. Familiar.

Professional.

And clearly for Lamia.

My eyes flicked to her, still asleep, still facing my side of the bed, one arm outstretched like she had never meant to fall asleep without me there. Her chest rose and fell steadily, lips slightly parted. Innocent.

But the phone…

The message…

It didn’t feel innocent.

I had never heard her talk about anyone being in a facility. Not recently. Not ever. And certainly not in a way that would require early morning updates.

Why would she be getting updates like that?

Who was this patient?

Why was it so formal… so clinical, but sent directly to her personal number?

I looked at the message again, the words starting to sound louder in my head the longer I stared.

“Trauma group.”
“Episodes of aggression.”
“Supervised outdoor access.”

Someone was clearly in deep recovery. Not some regular mental health thing. This was structured, monitored, possibly even court-mandated.

And Lamia was being updated.

Why?

I swallowed hard, forcing my heartbeat to settle, but my mind was already turning.

Peterson.

I hadn’t heard that name in weeks. I wanted to believe it was dead weight she’d finally cut off. But that name still lived somewhere in the walls of my mind, hiding in the corners where shadows formed when I felt least secure.

Could it be him?

Could he be the patient?

Was Lamia… helping? Funding? Visiting?

No. She would’ve told me.

Wouldn’t she?

But my stomach curled tighter the longer I sat there, rocking Rebecca in silence, listening to the quiet buzz of early morning stretch across the walls.

The message disappeared from the screen. The light faded. Lamia turned slightly, shifting in her sleep.

And I just sat there.

Breastfeeding my daughter.

Staring at the nightstand.

And wondering if the woman I loved was hiding something I hadn’t even thought to ask about.

I didn’t even realize my hands were shaking until I tried to set Rebecca back down in her crib.

She was full now, her tiny belly gently rising and falling as I lowered her slowly into the soft mattress. Her fingers were still curled into sleepy fists, her lips parted just slightly, a little bit of milk trailing from the corner of her mouth. I wiped it gently with my thumb.

My heart was racing.

I didn’t want to make noise. Didn’t want to wake Lamia. Didn’t want to tip her off. I tucked the blanket tighter around Rebecca, stood carefully, and took one final glance at Lamia.

She hadn’t moved.

But all I could hear in my head was the message.
“Patient. Trauma group. Supervised outdoor access.”

No. No, this wasn’t going to sit right. I needed to know what this was. I couldn’t live another day pretending nothing happened when something clearly was. I needed to know what part of Lamia’s life I didn’t know. I deserved that.

And more importantly, I had to do it in a way that didn’t start a war.

So I grabbed my phone from the low drawer of the vanity and tiptoed toward the door. I opened it slowly, not all the way, just enough for me to slip out quietly, phone clutched to my chest like it was a weapon.

The hallway outside the master bedroom was freezing. Cold marble floors, soft light from the decorative sconces. I walked barefoot toward the kitchen, the house still dim and quiet. The wall clock read 5:41 AM.

I unlocked my phone and went straight to my sister’s name.

Rabina Hidalgo

My finger hovered for half a second.

Then I pressed Call.

It rang twice before she answered, her voice croaky with sleep.

“Ugh… hello?”

“Bina,” I said instantly, but hushed, stepping behind the kitchen counter like Lamia could still somehow hear me.

“…Rani? Are you okay?” she sat up straighter, I could hear it in her voice. “What time is it? Did something happen?”

“I need you here before 8 AM. Please.” My words came out rushed. Urgent. My pulse was practically in my ears.

“Huh?” Rabina yawned. “Wait… what’s going on?”

“I can’t explain everything now,” I whispered, pacing lightly near the sink. “Just… please, Bina. Cancel all your meetings. Clear your whole day. I need you here. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can, but why? Rani, what’s wrong?”

I hesitated, pressing my palm to my forehead. “I’m going to follow Lamia today.”

There was a pause. Long enough that I thought she might hang up.

“You’re going to what?”

“Follow her. Secretly. I… I saw something. A message. From someone I don’t know. It was an update about a patient… from a rehabilitation facility. Trauma therapy. Supervised sessions. It sounded… personal. Like something Lamia should’ve told me.”

“Oh my god…” Rabina’s voice dropped. “Wait… are you saying she’s hiding something from you?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions. But Bina… it didn’t look like business. It didn’t sound like work. And she never said anything about a patient or any connection like that. Why would she be getting those kinds of updates?”

I leaned against the counter, my hands trembling as I rubbed at my temple. “I just… I need to know the truth. Quietly. Without starting a fight.”

Rabina let out a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you here before 8. I’ll pretend I have errands. You stay with Nina and help her with the kids. Faisal might notice I’m not around if it’s just the nanny. I need you to keep things normal here. Tell Nina everything’s fine. And don’t mention this to anyone.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” Rabina said immediately. “I’m already up. I’ll text my assistant now. I’m on the way.”

I closed my eyes in relief, voice softening. “Thank you. I wouldn’t ask you if this wasn’t important.”

“No. Don’t even say that. I’ve got you,” she said firmly. “We’ll figure this out. And Rani? Whatever it is… you’re not crazy for needing answers.”

I nodded slowly, though she couldn’t see me. “I just… I don’t want to feel like the last person to know something that could break me.”

There was a quiet pause again, but this time it felt supportive.

“I’ll be there in less than two hours,” Rabina promised. “Start thinking of a reason to step out later. I’ll take care of everything else.”

I ended the call.

And as I stood there in the cold kitchen, the sky outside slowly beginning to shift into pale gray light, I realized something inside me had shifted too.

——

The scent of pan de sal and strawberry jam filled the air, mixing with the warm butter melting on the table and the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea. I sat beside Faisal, helping him wipe his sticky fingers while Rebecca dozed off again in her carrier seat next to me. Lamia was sitting across from us, already dressed in her taupe blouse and cream slacks, hair tied in a neat ribbon ponytail, her phone beside her plate like always.

She wasn’t eating much. Just slowly tearing her bread into smaller pieces, taking the occasional sip of her tea. Her mind was somewhere else. Her eyes kept glancing at the wall clock.

She was planning to leave soon. I knew it. I felt it.

I tucked my hair behind my ear, smiling gently at Faisal as he munched noisily on a piece of mango. I tried not to look too distracted, too aware, but my heart was thudding in a pattern that didn’t match the calmness of our morning.

Then at exactly 7:50 a.m., the elevator dinged.

Lamia barely glanced toward the door until she heard the quiet voice of our helper Nina greeting, “Good morning, Ma’am Rabina.”

Lamia’s head lifted instantly. Her brows furrowed in confusion just as Rabina stepped into the dining area, dressed in a nude blouse and jeans, hair curled, carrying a paper bag that probably had toys or snacks for the kids. Her heels clacked softly on the marble as she entered the space with that effortless, glamorous air only Rabina could pull off before 8 in the morning.

Lamia stood up halfway, surprised. “Rabina?”

I pretended to be mid-chew and busy with Faisal, keeping my tone light, controlled. “Bina!”

Rabina smiled and set the bag down on the kitchen counter. “Good morning! I figured I’d stop by and visit my niece and nephew.”

Lamia blinked. Her voice was polite, but you could hear the stiffness behind it. “At seven-fifty in the morning?”

“My niece and nephew are early risers,” Rabina shrugged playfully, brushing a curl behind her ear. “And I didn’t get to cuddle Rebecca last time.”

Lamia smiled faintly, that tight-lipped kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re sweet for that.”

I glanced at her plate. Barely touched.

Then she stood up.

Just like that.

She walked over to the back of her chair and grabbed her taupe Birkin from the sideboard, slinging it over her arm with grace and practiced ease.

“I’ll get going,” she said, tone still calm. “Traffic’s building up.”

I raised my brows slightly. “You’re leaving already?”

She leaned down and kissed the top of Faisal’s head, then brushed her lips against my cheek briefly, cool and faint. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” I said softly, watching as she walked toward the foyer.

Rabina was now by the island counter, opening her bag and pulling out a little plush dinosaur for Faisal, her tone exaggerated and cheerful. “Look what I brought for you!”

Faisal lit up instantly, already scrambling out of his seat with sticky fingers.

I stood there, my heart tight in my chest.

I heard the jingle of keys. The click of her Louboutin heels fading toward the door.

Lamia didn’t look back.

And I didn’t stop her.

——

Five minutes.

Exactly five minutes.

That’s how long I waited after the front door clicked shut behind Lamia, her perfume still lingering faintly in the air, floral, clean, a little too familiar. The soft hum of the elevator had already faded, and so had the sound of her heels, but I still stared at the door like it might swing back open and she’d catch me.

But she didn’t come back.

I sat still in my chair, my fingers curled lightly around the rim of my mug, watching the steam fade into the quiet space between me and the truth I was trying so hard to ignore. My heart was thudding, loud and steady, like it knew I was about to do something I couldn’t take back.

Rabina was still playing with Faisal by the rug, laughing as he climbed into her lap with his new stuffed dinosaur. She glanced up at me with that knowing look, like she was waiting for my signal.

I cleared my throat.

“I’m leaving too,” I said quietly, standing from my chair.

Rabina’s brows lifted just a bit. She caught the edge in my voice. “Now?”

I nodded, already smoothing my dress and brushing invisible lint from my sleeves. “Yeah. Before I lose my nerve.”

She stood up too, gently shifting Faisal off her lap and giving him a quick peck on the forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” I answered honestly. “But I need to know.”

I walked over to her, brushing my fingers lightly over Rebecca’s baby blanket where she lay sleeping in her carrier, her tiny hand curled into a fist near her mouth. My heart squeezed. She looked so peaceful, so unaware. So safe.

“Thank you for doing this,” I whispered.

Rabina gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll take care of them. Just text me.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, then grabbed my cream cardigan from the back of the dining chair and slipped it on. My flats were waiting by the door, simple nude ones I could move quickly in, quiet, unnoticeable.

My purse was already packed. I had done that in secret earlier, just in case.

I walked toward the foyer, the air heavier there for some reason. Like it still held Lamia’s footsteps, like I was walking right into her shadow. I stared at the reflection of myself in the glass door, tired eyes, tense shoulders, lips pressed together to keep from trembling.

——

The moment the elevator doors slid open and I stepped into the parking lot of Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures, my eyes darted around instinctively… looking, searching.

But Lamia’s car wasn’t there.

My steps slowed for a second, my flats making dull taps on the concrete. The sun was already climbing higher, casting sharp shadows against the luxury cars lined up neatly like soldiers. But not hers. Not her sleek, matte-black Mercedes. Not even the subtle scent of her perfume in the air.

Where the hell was she?

It was already past 8:30. Her usual start was 8:00 sharp. Lamia, the queen of routine, the one who color-coded her meetings and made her assistants memorize her coffee order by heart, was never late. Ever.

I swallowed hard and marched forward.

I didn’t care that I wasn’t wearing any makeup. I didn’t care that my hair was just in a low bun or that I was in a cream linen dress that clung to me from breastfeeding. I didn’t care about the stares I was getting the moment I stepped through the sliding glass doors of the building, Lamia’s company, her empire. Her face was on the wall near the reception, framed in black and gold with the words President and CEO underneath. But I didn’t pause to look at it. Not today.

People started to look up. Staff in pencil skirts and barong Tagalog. Interns holding folders. Engineers passing by with blueprints in hand.

I heard one whisper, “Is that…?”

Another said, “That’s Mrs. Gaddafi…”

Someone even smiled and tried to greet me. “Good morning, Ma’am Rani!”

But I didn’t even nod.

I walked straight through the wide lobby, my heels almost echoing on the marble floor. Straight to the elevator. Straight to the top floor. Straight to Lamia’s office.

The doors opened to her executive floor, cold, quiet, modern. Everything smelled like oak and power. Her glass office stood at the very end, but I turned instead to the smaller glass room at the side, her secretary’s desk.

“Felicia,” I said flatly the moment I reached it, trying to keep my breath steady. “Where is Lamia?”

Felicia looked up from her screen, startled. “Ma’am Rani… good morning. Uh…”

“I didn’t see her car downstairs,” I continued, stepping forward. “She’s not answering her phone. Is she in a meeting?”

Felicia blinked nervously, glancing at her monitor, then quickly back at me. “Um… she’s not here yet.”

“What?”

“She hasn’t arrived, ma’am.”

“It’s almost nine. It’s her office hour already,” I said, trying to control my voice, but I could feel it rising. My fists clenched lightly at my sides. “Where did she go?”

Felicia hesitated. She looked like she was trying to calculate how much she was allowed to tell me. But I was already two seconds away from snapping.

I took a breath. “Felicia. Please.”

That was all it took.

She swallowed and clicked something on her screen. Then she opened a drawer, pulled out a small notepad, and tore a piece from it, her handwriting scribbled neatly across the page.

“She left this address yesterday,” she said quietly, handing it to me. “She told me she’d be there again this morning before coming here.”

I looked down at the paper.

An address. Not a company. Not a familiar place. Just a quiet, nondescript location. My stomach twisted.

I looked back at Felicia. “Did she say what kind of appointment it was?”

Felicia shook her head. “No, ma’am. Just that it was urgent.”

Urgent.

I gripped the paper, folded it once, and slipped it into my purse.

“Thank you,” I said shortly, already turning back to the elevator. My pulse was beating in my throat now. I couldn’t breathe fully. I didn’t even know what I was feeling anymore, just the undeniable certainty that something wasn’t right.

And I was about to find out what it was.

I didn’t wait for the elevator this time.

I rushed down the fire exit stairs two floors until the next elevator landing, jammed my thumb on the button, and the moment the doors opened, I flew inside. My heart was pounding so loud in my ears it felt like thunder against my ribs. I kept replaying Felicia’s words in my head like a broken record.

“She told me she’d be there again this morning…”

Again. That means it wasn’t the first time.

When I stepped into the parking lot, the sun hit my eyes harshly, almost as if the day was mocking me for thinking I could ever have a normal morning.

I reached for the key fob in my bag, my fingers trembling as I beeped open my black new Chevrolet Tahoe. The door clicked, and I climbed inside. The leather seat was still warm from the sunlight, and for a second, I just sat there, both hands on the steering wheel, my breaths shallow, chest tight.

Then I reached into my purse and unfolded the piece of paper Felicia gave me.

The handwriting was neat. Clear.

Center for Christian Recovery, Antipolo City.

My fingers went slack.

The paper nearly fell from my hands.

Rehabilitation facility?

I blinked, reread the words, then read them again. My stomach flipped, and a slow coldness crept into my spine.

What the hell was Lamia doing in a place like that?

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what the Center for Christian Recovery was. It wasn’t just some community outreach site or volunteer program. It was a known rehabilitation and trauma healing facility. For addiction. For relapse. For mental breakdowns. For people who’d lost control of their lives.

Why was she there?

My mind was a flood now, images, theories, old fears crawling out from under the floorboards. Was Lamia helping someone? Was she… hiding something? Was she the patient?

No. No, Rani. You’d know. You’d know if something was wrong. Wouldn’t you?

I turned the key in the ignition.

The engine roared to life, but I could barely hear it.

I opened my Maps app and typed the address. An hour and twenty minutes. Traffic depending. But I didn’t care. I was already pulling out of the parking spot, my heart climbing into my throat.

The car was still shifting into drive as I sped out of the building’s gates, barely noticing the guards salute. My palms were slick on the wheel. I pressed harder on the gas the moment I hit the main road.

The entire drive through Ortigas Extension and Marcos Highway blurred around me. Billboards, gas stations, loading jeepneys… none of them registered.

All I could see was that white notepaper and that name:

Center for Christian Recovery.

Why didn’t she tell me?

She told me everything now. We were in such a good place. She kissed me last night. Touched me like she meant it. Called me “my girl” like I was her whole world. So why… this?

Was this what the message from the unknown number meant?

“Update from the patient.“

Was Lamia… seeing someone in rehab?

My grip on the wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white.

I shouldn’t be spiraling. I shouldn’t be thinking this way. But how could I not?

Everything in me was trembling. I didn’t even turn on the radio. The silence was louder. My chest was already aching with the weight of too many thoughts colliding at once.

——

The second I turned onto Buhay Road, I knew I was in the right place.

The neighborhood changed from chaotic city streets to quiet, tree-lined lanes. The air felt cooler up here, as if the altitude alone gave the place its own rhythm. The sign came into view before I even slowed down “Center for Christian Recovery”, carved into a white stone wall, the font dignified but humble, like it didn’t want to draw attention.

And there it was. Parked in the corner of the front lot, near a line of acacia trees shading the cars from the sun.

Lamia’s car.

Mercedes. License plate I memorized months ago. There was no mistaking it.

My heart dropped. I stopped my Tahoe a few stalls away and sat there for maybe five seconds. Just breathing. Just trying to hold down the burn that was rising from my stomach.

She really was here.

I stepped out quickly, quietly, not even bothering to fix my hair or powder the shine off my nose. My sandals made soft clicks against the concrete as I walked through the sliding glass doors of the facility.

The reception area was clean and sparse, white walls, blue couches, pamphlets lined up on the counter. There was a soft instrumental hymn playing in the background. It felt… sacred. Like I was intruding on a place not meant to carry secrets.

But I had one now.

The girl at the front desk looked up with a polite smile. “Good morning. Sino po hinahanap niyo?”

I walked slowly to the counter, keeping my voice low. “Hi… I believe a patient here is being visited this morning by someone I know. I just need to confirm.”

“Sige po, ma’am,” she said gently, tapping something into her system. “Puwede ko po bang malaman yung pangalan ng sinasabi niyo?”

“Lamia Al-Gaddafi,” I said immediately, my voice firmer than I expected.

Her fingers paused on the keyboard. Her brows knit for a second before she nodded and said, “Ah, opo nandito siya. Dumating siya kanina around 8:23 a.m.”

My chest tightened. “Do you know who she’s visiting?”

She looked at the screen again and said clearly, “Peterson Del Valle.”

The name hit me like cold water. Even though I already knew… already suspected, it was different hearing it from someone else.

Still here. Still him.

Still that name that never really left us alone.

I swallowed hard. “Can I… can I see them?”

The receptionist hesitated. “Related po ba kayo?”

I nodded quickly. “Yes. I’m her wife.”

She blinked, nodded slowly, then picked up the phone. “Sige po ma’am sasabihan ko po yung iba sa counseling wing na i-assist kayo. Sandali lang po.”

I stepped back, clutching the strap of my bag, my fingers curled tightly around my phone inside. My nails dug into the leather, but I didn’t loosen them.

A man in white scrubs arrived five minutes later and gently led me through a quiet hallway. The lights were soft. There were large windows on either side of the corridor, overlooking gardens and fountains. Patients walked slowly down the paths with counselors beside them. It was calm here. Tranquil.

But none of it settled me.

Each step felt like I was walking deeper into something I wasn’t prepared for.

“Nasa guest family therapy wing po sila ma’am,” the staff said softly. “Room 3A.”

We turned a corner.

And then we stopped.

He motioned toward a frosted glass door just a few feet away. “Puwede niyo po silang tignan sa may bintana kung gusto niyo.”

I didn’t say anything.

I just walked forward. Quiet. Careful. My chest caving in on itself with every step.

The window to the side of Room 3A had just enough visibility. If I leaned slightly toward the right, I could see inside.

And there she was.

Lamia.

Sitting on one side of a round table. Her blazer was draped behind her chair, her sleeves rolled up. She looked calm. Poised. Her hands were folded in front of her, resting on the table, while she leaned forward slightly. She was listening.

And across from her was Peterson.

He was thinner than I remembered. Hair shorter. Beard trimmed but patchy. He looked tired, older, more weathered. Like time had worked him harder than it did us. He was wearing a rehab uniform, plain gray shirt, light gray pants, an ID clipped to the collar.

They were deep in conversation.

No smiles. No laughter. Just steady, quiet intensity between them. Lamia nodded slowly at something he said, then reached for the folder in front of her. Notes? Documents?

I pressed my lips together. My fingers trembling as I slowly lifted my phone from my bag and opened the camera.

I zoomed in. Focused.

I took the photo.

One.

Then two.

Then a short video, five seconds of Lamia nodding at him, her expression soft but serious.

I didn’t know why I needed to capture it.

Maybe because I needed proof. Maybe because if I ever confronted her, I didn’t want to be doubted. Or maybe… just maybe, part of me hoped the camera would catch something my heart couldn’t explain.

But Lamia never saw me.

Neither did he.

I backed away from the window slowly, my chest burning, throat dry, eyes beginning to sting.

So it was true.

She was here.

With him.

And she hadn’t told me a damn thing.

My fingers were cold when I slipped my phone back into my bag.

I couldn’t even remember how I made it back to the Tahoe.

The wind outside was slightly stronger now, blowing dust across the pavement of the parking lot, but I didn’t feel any of it. I walked straight, chest tight, the sounds around me muffled like I was walking underwater. My sandals clicked against the cement, and I could still feel the imprint of my heartbeat in the center of my palms.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door… hard. Too hard.

Then silence.

Just me and my breathing.

I pulled the door lock down, rested my forehead on the steering wheel, and let out one slow exhale. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just… paused. Letting the tension build behind my ribs like a storm trapped in a snow globe.

Then I sat up straight, pushed the key into the ignition, and shifted gears with one hand while reaching for my phone with the other.

I tapped Nina’s contact immediately.

She answered on the second ring. “Hello po, Ma’am Rani?”

“Nina,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I drove out of the parking lot and onto the road. “I’m sending you something.”

“Okay po. Anong kailangan ko gawin?”

“Print everything. I don’t care how many photos I send. Print them all. Use the office printer in the study.”

There was a short pause. “Yung malaki pong printer sa may bookshelf?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Make sure no one else sees them. Don’t open them until I say so.”

“Okay po, Ma’am. Ako lang ang makakakita.”

“Good,” I whispered, swallowing hard as I drove past the rehabilitation center’s gates.

The car ride back down Antipolo’s winding roads was a blur of green trees and gravel sounds beneath the tires. My hand was shaking slightly as I opened the photo gallery and selected the two clearest shots, one of Lamia and Peterson across the table, and one where Lamia was slightly leaning forward, face soft and focused on his.

Then the five-second clip.

Her nodding. Him speaking.

I selected them all. Hit share.

Sent to Nina.

“Call me when it’s done,” I added on the phone. “I want those printed and ready before I get home.”

“Yes po. Ma’am Rani.”

I dropped the call.

My hands gripped the steering wheel harder now. Jaw clenched. No music played. No distractions.

Just the quiet throb in my chest, and the sound of wheels spinning toward answers I wasn’t ready for.

——

The moment I opened the door of the penthouse, I hadn’t even fully stepped inside when Rabina immediately greeted me. She was sitting on the couch, holding a mug of tea she clearly wasn’t drinking. The worry was written all over her face, her brows furrowed tightly together like she’d been waiting for hours.

“What did you find out?” she asked right away, nearly standing up from her seat.

I didn’t answer.

I quietly opened my bag, pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and opened the gallery. No words. No buildup. I tapped on the first photo, Lamia, sitting at a table, looking at Peterson. Calm. Present. Attentive.

I handed the phone to Rabina.

I saw how she froze.

Her eyes widened. She swiped left, then again. Then she played the short video. She didn’t say a word as she watched, but I knew exactly what she was thinking. Because I was thinking the same.

“That’s why she didn’t show up at the office this morning,” I whispered, barely audible.

“Rani…” Rabina finally spoke, also in a soft voice. “Why is she…”

I didn’t let her finish.

“Manang Sally!” I called out, my voice louder than usual.

In a few seconds, our elderly housekeeper peeked out from the hallway near the laundry area. “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Please pack Faisal and Rebecca’s clothes into two pieces of luggage. Just the essentials. Milk, diapers, blankets, everything. I won’t let them be around while I talk to Lamia.”

Rabina and I looked at each other, and I didn’t need to say anything more. She understood immediately.

Manang Sally nodded. “Sige po aayusin kona.”

As she headed back to the hallway, I stepped closer to Rabina and gently took my phone back from her.

I looked her straight in the eyes. “Take the kids to my house. In Santa Rosa. Keep them there for now.”

“Rani…”

“Please,” I cut her off gently but firmly. “I don’t have the strength to face Lamia while the kids are here. They might sense the tension. I don’t want that.”

She nodded. She stood as well and placed the mug of tea down on the side table. “Okay. I’ve got it. I’ll take care of them. I won’t leave you alone.”

I walked to her and hugged her tightly, not like our usual sisterly hugs. This one was tight. Heavy. Like I was borrowing strength from her, even just for a moment.

“Thank you,” I whispered against her shoulder. “Once Lamia gets home, I’ll talk to her. Then I’ll follow you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, slowly pulling away from the hug.

I nodded. “Yes. I can’t delay this any longer. I need to hear the truth from her directly.”

She nodded, then glanced toward the hallway where Manang Sally had gone. “We’ll start getting ready. I’ll call Kuya Romy to drive us.”

“Okay,” I replied, though I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes anymore. I turned to the windows of the penthouse instead. The city outside looked calm, peaceful. But inside my chest, it felt like an earthquake that wouldn’t stop.

I was still holding my phone.

Rabina was already halfway to the hallway when she suddenly stopped, turned around, and looked at me with a concerned face. Her eyes dropped to the baby carrier on the couch, Rebecca was fast asleep, her tiny fist curled under her chin, lips parted ever so slightly. That little rhythmic rise and fall of her chest… it only made the heaviness in mine feel deeper.

“How do I feed Rebecca?” Rabina asked, softly but seriously.

I blinked. For a second, I forgot I wouldn’t be the one holding her at feeding time.

I walked over, took the baby bag from near the bassinet, and unzipped the small pouch where I always kept the bottles. “There are four sterilized bottles in here,” I said, my voice steady, like I was trying to focus on something mechanical. “You just warm the milk pouch in warm water, don’t microwave, just soak it in a mug for a few minutes. Then pour it into the bottle. Test it on your wrist, make sure it’s not too hot.”

Rabina nodded slowly, like she was mentally filing every word. But I saw the worry in her eyes wasn’t really about the milk.

She still didn’t move.

Then she asked, “What if Mom and Das ask?”

That was the question hanging unspoken in the room, wasn’t it?

What would I say when our parents asked why their daughter and her wife… so admired, so seemingly perfect, so well-put-together, suddenly weren’t living under the same roof?

“What will I tell them, Rani?” Rabina pressed gently, still looking at me. “You know Mom will panic. And Dad… well, you know how he gets.”

I let out a breath, low and tired, and looked down at the bag I had just packed. “Tell them we just fought.”

“You think they’ll believe that?”

“I think,” I said, finally meeting her eyes, “they’ll believe whatever keeps the storm at bay. And I can’t handle another storm right now, Rabina. Not when I haven’t even calmed the one inside me.”

She took that in, quietly.

“I’m not hiding anything forever,” I added, pressing my palm to my chest, like I could soothe the tightness there. “I just need space. A few hours. I just need to talk to Lamia… without the noise.”

Rabina looked at me for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “Just a fight. That’s what I’ll say.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, and kissed Rebecca lightly on the forehead before Rabina gently picked her up, cradling her carefully like I showed her before.

I swallowed hard. My arms already ached to take her back. But no, this was the right decision. For now.

As Rabina carried Rebecca to the hallway, I heard Faisal’s little voice calling for his Tita, and the sound shattered me in ways I couldn’t show.

——

The digital clock on the wall blinked 11:03 PM.

I had been sitting on the couch for over an hour now, legs curled under me, wearing nothing but one of Lamia’s oversized shirts and the heaviness of a thousand thoughts I couldn’t name yet. The penthouse was too quiet. The silence didn’t bring peace, it only made every second crawl, louder and more punishing. Every faint city sound outside, every whisper of wind rattling the windowpanes made me flinch.

The lights were dim, just the warm amber glow from the corner lamp casting shadows on the marble floor. On the glass coffee table in front of me were the printed photos, crisp, glossy, damning. The images of Lamia sitting across from Peterson, leaning slightly forward, that soft expression in her eyes that I had memorized too well because it used to belong to me.

And now… I didn’t know.

The front door clicked open.

I didn’t move.

I heard her heels first. The soft rhythm of it against the polished floor. Then the familiar jingle of her car keys as she tossed them in the bowl near the entrance. She was humming. Humming. As if nothing in the world was wrong.

When she entered the living room, her tired eyes immediately found me.

“Habibti,” she said in that gentle voice that used to make me melt. “You’re still awake?”

She walked toward me, smiling, hair slightly tousled from the long day, cheeks glowing from the night air. She looked like someone who was coming home to warmth, love, safety. To me.

But the moment she bent down and leaned in to kiss me…

I moved my face away.

She froze.

Then… SLAM.

I grabbed the photos, the whole stack of them, and dropped them harshly on the glass table between us. The plastic sleeves scraped against the glass. The sound sliced through the stillness like a blade.

Her eyes dropped.

She blinked.

And she went completely still.

I didn’t say anything right away. I let the silence speak for me, for the hours I spent driving with shaking hands, the panic rising in my throat when I arrived at that rehab center, the ache in my heart when I watched her through the glass with her ex.

“What is the meaning of that?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t pull it back. I meant every edge, every tremor, every wounded syllable.

Lamia’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. She looked up at me again… slowly, and I hated that her eyes didn’t immediately flash with guilt.

I hated that I couldn’t read her.

“You have three seconds,” I said, low and shaking. “Before I say something I won’t take back.”

Because I swear, if she even dared to lie… I didn’t know what I’d do.

Lamia didn’t move.

She didn’t reach for the photos. Didn’t sit down. Didn’t speak. Her fingers clenched at her sides like she was holding back a storm. I saw it… the flicker in her eyes, that moment of fear she thought she could hide from me. The crack in her calm.

I waited.

My breath was short, shallow. My chest rising and falling too fast, like I couldn’t catch my own air. My fists were trembling on my lap.

Finally, she spoke… low, measured.

“Rani…” Her voice was almost a whisper. “It’s not what you think.”

I laughed. Just once. Dry. Bitter. A sound I didn’t even recognize as my own.

“Then enlighten me.” My voice cut sharp. I leaned forward and jabbed a finger toward the stack of photos now scattered across the table. “Because what I think I saw… was you skipping work… lying to my face, so you could go visit someone in rehab. Someone who ruined everything for me.”

She flinched.

I stood up. My legs were weak, but the fire in my chest was stronger than my knees.

“Peterson Del Valle,” I spat the name like it tasted foul. “You think I wouldn’t recognize him? You think I forgot his face? The man who pushed me, who made me lose my baby… your baby!”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Only guilt. Only silence.

“Should I pretend I don’t remember?” My voice cracked, but I held it together. “Should I forget how you defended him? How you ran back to him when we still hated each other? How I was carrying our child, our chance at being a family… and he pushed me hard enough to take that away from me?”

She looked away, her face crumpling, but I wouldn’t let her escape.

“Look at me!” I yelled, and she did… eyes wide, already glossed with tears. “That baby mattered to me. Even when we didn’t love each other. Even when everything was cold between us, I loved that child.”

“I did too,” she whispered. “Rani, I did too.”

“Then why would you go near him again?” My voice broke completely. I took one of the photos and shoved it against her chest. “Why would you sit across from him like nothing happened? Like he didn’t take everything from us?”

“I didn’t go to reconnect,” she said finally, tears slipping down her face. “I didn’t go there for closure or for love. I went because Dove reached out… she begged. Their mother is dying. Peterson also wanted to confess. To ask forgiveness.”

“And you thought you had to give it to him?” I scoffed. “You thought you owed him that?”

“I owed myself that,” she said, brokenly. “I’ve hated him. I never forgave him for what he did to you. That was the last day I ever saw him… until now.”

I stepped back.

“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t make this about your healing when I’m the one who bled.”

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you,” she said, almost pleading now. “I just… I thought I could face it. Quietly. Without reopening everything between us.”

“You don’t get to make that decision alone,” I snapped. “You don’t get to keep secrets just because they’re messy. I have lived with the weight of that day every single minute, Lamia. Every time I look at Rebecca, I think of the child I lost before her. I think of how cold your hand felt in mine when they told us we lost the baby. And I wonder if you ever even cared.”

“I did,” she said, a choked sob slipping from her. “God, Rani… I did. That was the day everything changed for me. That was the day I realized I loved you.”

My breath caught.

Too late.

Too broken.

“You should’ve told me you were going,” I said, quieter now. “You should’ve trusted me enough to prepare me. Instead, I had to find out while holding our daughter, watching your phone light up with some mystery message.”

“I didn’t want to bring him into this again,” she said, her voice low. “Not into the life we’ve built. I’ve spent years trying to make it up to you.”

“And you think hiding this was part of that?”

Silence.

She finally sat down, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I am. I don’t expect you to forgive me for seeing him, but I swear to you… there’s nothing left between us. I sat there so I could end everything I still carried about him.”

I looked down at the photos, still strewn across the glass. Still raw. Still burning.

“Where are the kids?” she asked softly, her voice hoarse.

I folded my arms across my chest.

“I sent them away” I said.

She looked up quickly. “You sent them away?”

“I didn’t want them here,” I said, firmly. “Not for this. Not to see me cry. Not to see me broken. Because while you were off confronting your past, I was here trying to protect the future you keep pretending we’re building.”

Lamia opened her mouth to speak, but I held up a hand.

“I don’t need your promises tonight,” I said. “I just need the truth.”

And I waited.

Waited to see if she had it in her.

I didn’t say another word.

I didn’t cry.

I just leaned down and reached for my car key from the glass table, the same one where the photos still lay like splinters of a truth I never asked to find. The cold metal pressed against my palm, grounding me, reminding me I still had a choice. Still had some form of control in the middle of this collapse.

Lamia’s eyes followed the motion, and her voice came out small, too small for someone who had shattered me tonight.

“Where are you going?”

I paused at that. My grip on the key tightened. My back was to her now, but I didn’t answer right away. I walked slowly toward the door of the penthouse. Each step felt like a decision I wished I didn’t have to make.

Then I turned to her.

And I didn’t hold back.

“Away from you,” I said simply. Quietly. But each word was sharp as a blade.

She stood up immediately, panic flashing across her face. “Rani… wait. Please…”

“The kids are at Santa Rosa,” I cut her off. “With Rabina. Safe. Peaceful. Somewhere I know they won’t hear you lie or watch me fall apart.”

“I’m not lying…”

“You are,” I snapped, my voice finally rising again. “You might’ve convinced yourself you weren’t, but you were. You lied by omission. You let me kiss you good morning, you let me breastfeed our daughter with your phone buzzing in secret, you let me believe I was crazy for asking questions.”

Her face fell, crumbling piece by piece.

“You don’t get to beg me to stay when you already chose to be somewhere else. With someone else.”

She stepped forward, barely breathing. “I told you… I didn’t go there for him.”

“Then why did it still feel like betrayal?”

She had no answer.

I shook my head slowly, feeling the weight of exhaustion sink into my bones. “We need space, Lamia.”

“No. No, please… habibti, we can talk…”

“I’m done talking tonight.” I looked her straight in the eyes, my voice heavy but clear. “Until you figure out what the hell you’re still holding onto, stay away from me. From us.”

“I’m not holding onto him,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m not.”

“You went to see him,” I said, my eyes glinting. “You sat across from the man who destroyed everything between us… and didn’t even think I deserved to know.”

She was crying now.

But I had nothing left to offer her. Not comfort. Not understanding. Not tonight.

I turned the doorknob.

“Rani, please,” she said, stepping forward, desperate. “Don’t take the kids away from me.”

“I didn’t take them,” I said without turning around. “You gave them up the second you walked into that facility.”

And with that, I walked out.

My heart was breaking. But at least now, it wasn’t breaking in silence.