Chapter 27

Lamia’s Point Of View

It had been a full week since Rani and I decided, almost impulsively, but with surprising resolve, to hand over our empires to our secretaries and hit the brakes on our careers, just for a little while.

A whole week of no boardroom pressure. No refinery reports. No international strategy calls. No suits, no time zones, no twenty-something-hour work days. Instead, it had been seven days of soft mornings, of sunlight pouring over Faisal’s crib while Rani stood barefoot beside him humming whatever lullaby was stuck in her head. Seven days of birthday planners, cake samples, and pastel color swatches spread out on our living room floor like confetti. Seven days of breathing.

For once, we weren’t CEOs. We weren’t Al-Gaddafi or Hidalgo. We weren’t chained to the pressure of legacy and control. We were just… Mama and Mommy. or sometimes Mommy and Mommy, or can be Mama and Mama too. And Faisal’s birthday was no longer just a milestone. It was becoming a quiet kind of miracle. The reason for stillness. The reason for choosing peace.

I watched Rani now, curled on the rug beside Faisal, her laptop still open in front of her despite everything. But instead of merger reports or supply chain graphs, she was comparing photos of balloon garlands and miniature carousel centerpieces. Her brows were furrowed with that same old perfectionist intensity, but this time, it wasn’t about power. It was about joy.

She looked up at me from where she sat on the floor, one arm reaching instinctively to block Faisal as he tried to wobble unsteadily toward the edge of the coffee table. “He’s fast now,” she muttered, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Didn’t he just learn to crawl yesterday?”

I chuckled softly from the couch, coffee in hand. “Try eleven months ago, and yes. He’s your son. Of course he’s ahead of schedule.”

Rani smirked but didn’t argue. She lifted Faisal onto her lap, kissing his cheek in that tender, absentminded way she did now. Like it had become second nature.

And it had.

This past week felt like stolen time. And in it, I saw sides of Rani I never thought existed, a softness she used to keep guarded like a secret. Her edges had dulled. Not because she was weaker, but because she finally stopped fighting me like I was the enemy.

And I had softened too. God, I had hardened so much after everything. The Peterson mess. The guilt. The shame. The rage of watching Rani’s grief and knowing I’d played a part in it. But now, the way she looked at me was different. She still didn’t trust easily, but she didn’t flinch anymore when our hands brushed.

It wasn’t perfect. We still had nights where silence settled too heavy in the air, where neither of us knew how to say the things that still lingered like ghosts between us. But it was better. It was real.

And Faisal… our Faisal, he was at the heart of it all.

His birthday wasn’t just a celebration. It was the start of a new story. One where maybe we weren’t just two women forced into a marriage neither of us wanted. Maybe we were something more now. Not lovers. Not yet. But something stronger than strangers pretending to be a family.

“Hey,” Rani said suddenly, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “What do you think about a butterfly release after the candle-blowing? Too much?”

I smiled, heart already full. “No. It’s perfect.”

Because she was finally planning for beauty. And for once, we both were.

——

Rani was still sketching something on her tablet when I moved from the couch and sat beside her on the floor, crossing my legs lazily. Faisal had fallen asleep in his playpen after tiring himself out with that tiny push walker he loved to ram into furniture. His little snores were the background music to our quiet afternoon.

Rani glanced at me, then tapped her screen. “So… sabi ng stylist, okay na raw yung setup sa garden kung gusto nating ‘dreamland’ vibe. Pero kailangan nating i-finalize yung supplier by tomorrow.”

“Go,” I said, stretching my arms overhead before leaning a bit closer to her. “Gusto ko ‘yung may fairy lights tapos may konting whimsical accents. Like… parang celebration talaga, hindi corporate event.”

She looked at me with a smirk, brushing a speck of dust from my shoulder. “What?, ikaw ‘tong may opinion sa design ha. Who are you and what did you do to Lamia Al-Gaddafi?”

“Don’t push it,” I said, laughing softly as I nudged her leg. “I still hate glitter.”

“Good,” she said with mock seriousness, “kasi kung nag-request ka ng glitter arch, mag-aaway tayo.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Butseriously, Rani… you’re really good at planning. I mean, I know you’re a boss, sanay ka mag-lead. But this, it’s different. And I love how calm you are.”

She blinked, a little surprised by my sincerity. “Baka dahil kay Faisal. Everything about him just makes sense. Lahat ng pagod… worth it.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sobrang worth it.”

Rani suddenly turned her body toward me more fully, the glow from the windows catching her cheekbone. “Naalala mo nung buntis ako, I didn’t even want a baby shower?”

“I remembered,” I said softly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Galit ka pa nga noon. Galit ka sa akin.”

“Galit ako sa mundo,” she whispered. “Sa situation. Sa sarili ko. Sa’yo rin, oo. Pero…” She looked down at her hands. “It’s different now. You’re different.”

I didn’t say anything right away. Instead, I gently reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for trying, Rani. Kahit hindi mo kailangang gawin ‘to… you’re here. You’re showing up.”

She gave a soft laugh, almost a scoff, but not unkind. “Bitch. Don’t make me cry before the balloon supplier gets here.”

I laughed, resting my head lightly on her shoulder. “Okay, fine. Sige na. Work mode ulit. Let’s talk budget.”

Rani gasped. “Excuse me? Budget daw. As if may budget ka.”

“Hoy, just because my babba is the richest man in the country doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be practical.”

She raised a perfectly arched brow. “Lamia. You literally ordered gold-trimmed cupcake holders kanina.”

“…they were cute.”

Rani laughed, full and genuine, and I felt that familiar tug in my chest, the one I used to ignore. But now, I didn’t push it away. I just let it sit there, quiet and warm.

For the first time, it felt like we were speaking the same language, not just Taglish, but the language of hope. Of forgiveness. Of building something better, even from the messiest beginnings.

And somewhere in the soft snores of our son, the smell of jasmine-scented candles, and the giggles that kept surprising us both, I began to believe that maybe this thing between Rani and me… wasn’t just survival anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of love.

——

It was already late afternoon when Rani stepped out to speak with the balloon supplier at the concierge. I remained in the living room, my fingers absently flipping through the pages of a vendor catalog, though my mind was elsewhere.

The past week had blurred by like a dream, long, unhurried mornings with Faisal between us in bed, quiet brunches that turned into planning sessions, chaotic laughter in the middle of color palette debates. Rani and I had handed off our empires to our secretaries, both of us making the same unspoken promise, just for this once, we would live slower… and be present.

We weren’t trying to fix the past. That would have been too painful, too messy to name. But we were trying something else, a kind of gentle rebellion against everything we used to be. And this birthday? This wasn’t just a celebration of our son’s first year in the world. It was a declaration. That despite the fractures and the ghosts, we were still here. All three of us.

The front door clicked open. I looked up.

Rani entered, heels in one hand, clearly exhausted but still graceful, hair in a loose bun that had started to fall out. “The supplier says they’ll deliver everything two days before the event,” she said, walking toward me. “No delays. And they’re adding in the custom balloon arch for free.”

“Of course they are,” I murmured with a smile, watching her flop onto the couch beside me. “You probably scared them into perfection.”

She tilted her head, smirking. “I was charming.”

I raised a brow. “You were intimidating.”

“Same thing,” she shrugged, eyes closing for a second. “My feet hurt. And I swear, if I see one more pastel color swatch today, I’m going to scream.”

I laughed softly. “You’re the one who insisted everything match.”

“Well, it has to match,” she said, eyes still closed but a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not letting our son have a half-baked birthday. Not when his moms run two of the country’s biggest companies.”

I leaned back against the cushions, looking at her for a long, quiet moment. The way her jaw relaxed when she stopped talking. The faint dark circles under her eyes, softened by the makeup she always wore. The way her chest rose and fell slowly, evenly, like she was finally allowing herself to breathe.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” I said gently.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Like what?”

“Soft,” I said. “Here. With us. You’ve always been… guarded. Fierce. Like you had to protect something all the time.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “I had to,” she said. “I was thrown into a marriage I didn’t want, had to give up my boyfriend, got pregnant without planning it, and then… and then I lost a child I never even got to meet.”

I swallowed, guilt settling low in my chest.

“I know,” I whispered. “And I’m sorry for all of it. Especially for what Peterson did. For how I… how we handled everything.”

Rani nodded slowly, then sat up and turned to face me fully.

“But we have Faisal,” she said. “And we have right now. That’s something.”

I reached over and touched her hand. “It’s more than something.”

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she laced our fingers together, and for a moment we just sat there, silent, listening to the faint sounds of our son shifting in his sleep in the next room.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said after a while, voice low. “You and me. It still feels like we’re walking a tightrope.”

“We are,” Rani said. “But at least we’re holding on.”

I smiled faintly. “Do you think we’ll ever figure it out?”

She leaned in just slightly, her voice quiet but certain. “I think we’re already starting to.”

And in that moment, with my hand in hers, the scent of vanilla candles in the air, the soft blanket pooled at our feet, and the ghost of a future we never meant to build beginning to take shape… I believed her.

Not because everything was fixed.

But because, for the first time, neither of us wanted to run away.

The room felt quieter than usual, despite the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant city noise seeping through the windows. Rani sat beside me, our hands loosely intertwined, her thumb gently brushing over my knuckles as if she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Maybe she didn’t. But I noticed everything. Every glance, every breath, every silent moment between us.

We were shifting. Slowly. Quietly. But shifting nonetheless.

I turned my eyes to the hallway that led to Faisal’s nursery. The door was slightly open, the baby monitor screen softly glowing on the side table. Even when he wasn’t in our arms, our lives orbited around him. And honestly, I didn’t mind it anymore. I used to resent this life, used to feel like I was losing control, but now… it was different. He changed everything.

“What do you think he’ll be like when he grows up?” I asked, not really expecting a deep answer. I just wanted to hear Rani talk about him. About us.

She smiled, and for once it didn’t have the sharp edge of sarcasm or defense. “Bossy, probably. With my attitude and your stubbornness? That child is destined for drama.”

I laughed softly, warmth bubbling in my chest. “God help whoever falls in love with him.”

“God help us,” she said, stretching her arms out, “if he starts talking early. We’re not ready for the sass he’ll inherit.”

I leaned into her side a little, resting my shoulder against hers. “You’ll love it. You’ll pretend you hate it, but I’ll know you love it.”

There was a pause. She didn’t deny it. Instead, she said, “I already do.”

Her voice cracked just slightly, and I turned my head to look at her.

“Even when he throws food at my blouse or screams like a banshee because he doesn’t want to nap,” she murmured, “I still look at him and think… how did we ever make something so perfect?”

My chest tightened. There it was again… the pain. The guilt. That quiet, echoing grief that neither of us really knew how to talk about.

“We didn’t plan for him,” I said softly, my fingers tightening around hers. “But he’s the only thing that’s ever made me want to fight for something permanent.”

Rani turned toward me, her expression unreadable, but her eyes, those beautiful, tired, guarded eyes, were looking right into mine.

“You mean that?”

“I do,” I said, no hesitation, no games. “I know I made mistakes. Too many. And I know you can’t just forget what happened. But I see you with him, Rani. I see how he clings to you, how you make him feel safe, how you sing to him when you think no one’s listening. He needs you more than anything. And…” I swallowed the lump in my throat, “I’m starting to realize I do too.”

There was a long silence. She blinked slowly, staring at me like she didn’t know what to make of me anymore.

“I don’t know if I can forget everything,” she finally whispered. “The loss. The betrayal. It still hurts.”

“I won’t ask you to forget,” I whispered back. “I just want to prove to you that I can be better now. For him. For you. For whatever future we’re trying to build.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening in a way that made my heart twist. “You really think there’s still an ‘us’?”

I held her gaze, steady and calm. “I hope there can be.”

For a second, I thought she might shut down. But then she laughed, quiet and surprised. “You’re annoyingly persuasive.”

“Only when it counts,” I said with a grin.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if we’re doing this… whatever this is, you’re still letting me pick the table settings.”

“No pastels,” I warned with mock sternness.

“We’ll negotiate,” she replied, nudging my shoulder.

I smiled as I leaned into her. For the first time in so long, the silence between us wasn’t painful. It was comforting. Safe. Maybe this wasn’t a fairytale. Maybe it never would be. But this right here, this soft, tentative middle ground, we built it ourselves.

And maybe, just maybe, it could grow into something more.

Rani had this look on her face, like she was still trying to figure out if this was real. If we were real again. She didn’t pull her hand away from mine, though. That was something. That meant something. And in Rani Hidalgo’s world, where every gesture was calculated and controlled, something as simple as holding hands could mean the world.

“I was thinking…” I began, letting my head rest gently against her shoulder again, “maybe after the party, we can take a short trip. Just the three of us. You, me, and Faisal. Somewhere quiet. No work. No headlines. Just time.”

She hummed, as if weighing the idea in her head. “Time,” she echoed. “What a luxury.”

“We can afford it,” I said, half-smiling. “We’ve spent years being warriors. Building our empires. Fighting everyone, including each other. Don’t you think we deserve a few days of peace?”

She didn’t answer right away, and that silence made me nervous. But then she leaned her head against mine and said softly, “You’re surprising me lately.”

“In a bad way?” I asked, half-joking, half-terrified.

“No,” she said. “In a way that makes it harder to stay mad at you.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “That’s good, right?”

She nodded faintly. “It’s terrifying. But good.”

There was something in her tone, something raw, almost afraid. I turned my head slightly to study her face. “You’re scared.”

She didn’t deny it. “I am. Lamia… I was building a new version of myself after everything fell apart. I wasn’t supposed to… feel this again. Want this again.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I wasn’t either. But I do.”

She looked at me then, truly looked, like she was peeling away every layer of me with her eyes. “Do you love me?”

The question came out so quiet I almost thought I imagined it. But it landed heavy between us, daring me to answer it with the weight it deserved.

“Maybe I’m starting to,” I said, voice trembling despite myself. “Even when I tried to. Even when I thought I hated you. There was always something underneath all of it. And now… I’m just not afraid to admit it.”

Rani stared at me, unmoving, unreadable. For a heartbeat I thought she might laugh. Deflect. Retreat into her usual shield. But instead, she whispered, “You know I’m still angry.”

“I know.”

“And hurt.”

“I know.”

“And not ready to say it back.”

My smile was small but steady. “You don’t have to. I’m not here to pressure you, Rani. I just… I want to stay. If you’ll let me.”

Her fingers tightened around mine, just a little. “Stay.”

That one word cracked something wide open in me.

We stayed like that, quiet, close, breathing the same space, for a long time. The world outside could wait. Right now, in this fragile moment of rebuilding and rediscovery, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

And in Rani’s silence, in her closeness, in the way her fingers held on just a little tighter than before… I heard something else, too.

Maybe she hadn’t said it out loud.

But maybe… just maybe, she will love me, too.

She didn’t move right away, didn’t say anything after that fragile word… stay, but I could feel her fingers still looped with mine, still clinging in that subtle, hesitant way that only Rani could. It was her version of vulnerability, silent but fierce, tender but cautious.

So I didn’t rush her. I waited.

The soft hum of the city lights beyond the penthouse windows filled the silence between us, the warmth of her shoulder against mine grounding me in this quiet, unfamiliar peace.

After a while, Rani exhaled. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”

I gave a soft laugh, one I couldn’t help. “Do you want me to?”

She turned to look at me, and this time there was no armor in her gaze, only exhaustion and something that looked like fragile trust. “No,” she admitted. “But it’s hard to believe. After everything… after Peterson.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I know. And I don’t expect you to just forget what happened. I’m not asking for that.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then what are you asking for?”

I looked down at our joined hands, then back up at her. “A chance. Not to erase the past, but to rewrite what comes after. For Faisal. For us, if we still have a chance at that.”

She was quiet for a long time. I could feel her heartbeat in the space between our hands. Then she said, “You don’t make this easy.”

I grinned softly. “Neither do you.”

There was the ghost of a smirk tugging at the edge of her lips. “You think we’re even now?”

“I think we’re finally on the same side.”

Rani tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “If we’re doing this… trying again, it has to be different. No secrets. No games.”

“No running away,” I added.

“No pretending we don’t care,” she said.

I nodded. “Deal.”

She sighed and leaned back, pulling me with her gently, until we were lying side by side on the couch, her arm wrapped loosely around my waist. “You know,” she said softly, “I still remember how you used to storm into rooms like a thunderstorm. You were so loud, so dramatic. I hated it.”

I laughed under my breath, resting my cheek on her shoulder. “You loved it. You just didn’t know it yet.”

“I still don’t know if I do,” she muttered, but her tone was playful now.

“Liar.”

She let out a small chuckle. “Maybe. But I do love how you’ve been showing up lately. Quietly. Steadily.”

“That’s how I want to keep showing up,” I murmured. “Not just for Faisal. For you.”

She went quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel tense. It felt… thoughtful.

Eventually, she said, “We should take those vacation days. After the birthday party.”

“You mean it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right. We need time. To rest. To breathe. To figure us out away from the noise.”

My heart warmed at her words, and I couldn’t hide my smile. “I’ll have Nina pack for Faisal.”

“And I’ll make sure Elise doesn’t forward any of my emails.”

I looked up at her. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” she replied. “As long as you’re there.”

And in that moment, lying there on the couch with her warmth beside me, our fingers still tangled, I realized it wasn’t just about rebuilding what we had. It was about discovering something new… something better. Something real.

I’d take it slow. I’d earn her back. Not with grand promises, but with moments like this, truthful, quiet, and shared.

Together.

——-

When dinner came, the scent of garlic, soy, and savory broth lingered warmly through the air, wrapping around the penthouse like a comforting embrace from a familiar past. Manang Sally and Anna had taken over the kitchen today, insisting we let them handle the meal. I hadn’t argued, it had been a long day of planning, and honestly, I missed this. Home-cooked Filipino food. The sound of plates being set. The little hums of old Tagalog love songs Manang Sally always sang when she cooked.

The dining table looked beautiful, not because of any grand centerpiece or imported china, but because it felt full. Alive. A meal made with care, by hands that loved us.

The moment Rani stepped out of our bedroom and walked toward the table, I noticed something new, or perhaps something that had always been there, hidden beneath the layers of cold civility we used to wear like armor. She didn’t sit across from me tonight, where she usually did. She slid into the seat right beside me.

She didn’t say anything about it. Just sat down as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I glanced at her, then down at the space between our chairs. Just a few inches apart now. No table or silence dividing us.

“You’re sitting here?” I asked, tilting my head with a small, amused smile.

She shrugged casually, reaching for the serving spoon in the bowl of adobo. “There’s better lighting on this side,” she said, but the tiny quirk of her lips gave her away.

I chuckled under my breath. “Right. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m here.”

She spooned a generous serving onto my plate before her own. “Maybe it’s both.”

I didn’t answer that. I didn’t have to. Something in my chest softened, not just because she sat beside me, but because she was trying, in her quiet, diva-like, Rani Hidalgo way.

The dinner was simple but comforting. Steaming sinigang, warm garlic rice, adobo with just the right amount of soy and vinegar, and lumpiang shanghai that Anna had proudly arranged in a fan. Beside the dishes, there was a small bowl of atsara, just the way Mama used to make it back in Antipolo.

“Mmm,” Rani murmured, taking a bite of the sinigang. “Manang Sally, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Manang Sally chuckled from the kitchen door. “Para sa inyo po ‘yan. Mukhang nagkakasundo na kayo ngayon, kaya dapat may masarap ang ulam”

Anna giggled, wiping her hands on her apron. “Yes po ma’am, luto ng may pag-ibig.”

I could see the way Rani’s cheek flushed faintly as she dipped her spoon back into the broth. “Sobra naman kayong dalawa,” she muttered, though not with her usual sharp edge.

“They’re not wrong,” I said, quietly, turning toward her as I scooped rice onto my plate. “lt’s the first time we’ve eaten like this. Together.”

Rani looked at me for a long second before nodding slowly. “Yeah… it feels different.”

“Better?”

She smiled, just a little. “Much.”

We didn’t talk much through the rest of the meal, but we didn’t have to. She refilled my glass of water without me asking. I passed her the patis without her reaching. Every movement was like a rhythm we were finally learning how to dance to, not perfectly, not without stumbles, but in sync.

When dinner ended, she helped me gather the empty plates and carry them to the kitchen, something Rani would’ve never done six months ago. She even rinsed a few dishes while I dried them off, side by side like old habits we never knew we could have.

And when we finished, she didn’t go to the bedroom first. She waited.

She wiped her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, eyes following me. I pretended not to notice at first, but I felt her gaze, steady, warm, and too honest for comfort.

“Hey,” she said softly.

I glanced at her. “Hmm?”

She tilted her head a little, her dark eyes studying me. “You’re quiet tonight.”

I folded the towel and set it aside. “I’m thinking.”

“About?”

I turned to face her, resting against the opposite counter. The soft light from above made her skin glow in a way that almost made me forget the question. “Us,” I admitted. “This. Faisal. How fast things are changing.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt. She just listened, which felt new.

“A few months ago, I couldn’t even look at you without feeling like I was suffocating,” I continued. “And now… now I find myself looking for you. In the morning. During meals. At night.”

She blinked, stunned. Then quietly, “Lamia…”

“I know I can’t take back what happened with Peterson. I wouldn’t ask you to forget it. But I want to believe we’re… rebuilding something. Not just for Faisal. But for us.”

Rani’s jaw tightened, but not with anger. She pushed away from the counter and crossed the small space between us, stopping just a breath away. I could feel the warmth of her body, the faint scent of her perfume, always something expensive, always something unforgettable.

“You hurt me,” she said, her voice low. “More than I ever thought you could.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

“But you’re right,” she added. “Things are changing.”

I searched her face. “And you’re okay with that?”

She hesitated, then reached for my hand. Her fingers slid between mine, tentative but certain. “I don’t know if I’m okay. But I’m… willing.”

My heart clenched. Not from pain this time, but from something fragile and new.

“I’m scared too,” I confessed, tightening my grip on her hand. “But I’m not running anymore. Not from you. Not from this marriage.”

Rani looked at me like she was trying to memorize me, not the woman I used to be, but the one standing in front of her now. Then she gave me a small, tired smile.

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m tired of running too.”

We stood there for a moment longer, hand in hand, the kitchen quiet around us.

And then, with a squeeze of my fingers, she murmured, “Let’s go to bed.”

She didn’t mean it with anything heavy behind it. Just an invitation. A closing to a long day.

Still holding hands, we turned off the kitchen lights together. And for the first time in a long time, we walked back to our bedroom not as strangers, not as enemies…

…but as two women learning to love each other again, one quiet step at a time.

——

The bedroom was dimly lit when we entered, the warm golden glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across the sheets. Faisal had already fallen asleep in his crib near the window, a small bundle of peace wrapped in soft blankets. I watched Rani’s eyes flick to him first before she sighed, kicked off her heels, and stretched her arms over her head.

She looked exhausted. But beautiful.

She climbed into bed first, pulling the blanket up and patting the space beside her without looking at me. “Hurry up, I need someone warm beside me.”

I smiled faintly and followed, slipping under the covers beside her. The mattress dipped slightly beneath our weight. There was still a comfortable space between us, but it wasn’t the distance it used to be.

Rani rolled to her side to face me, one arm bent under her head. “Remember when we used to argue over which side of the bed was whose?”

I chuckled softly. “You used to throw pillows at me for breathing too loud.”

“You snored,” she retorted, smirking.

“I don’t snore.”

“You did,” she said, then reached over and gently tugged at the blanket to cover my shoulder. “You don’t anymore. Not for a long time.”

I turned my head toward her. “Maybe I was just restless. Back then, I was trying to sleep next to someone I hated.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze was steady, unreadable. “And now?”

I didn’t look away. “Now I’m trying to sleep next to someone I don’t want to lose.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Instead, she reached for my hand beneath the blanket and intertwined her fingers with mine. Her grip was gentle, but sure, like she’d been waiting for this, for me, to finally reach back.

I heard her whisper, “You’re different now.”

“So are you,” I whispered back.

For a few moments, we didn’t speak. We just lay there, holding hands, listening to the quiet rhythm of our son breathing from the crib, and the muffled sounds of the city far below.

Then Rani shifted a little closer. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur. “But this… this feels right.”

I didn’t say anything. I just squeezed her hand and rested my forehead gently against hers.

We lay like that for a long time, not needing words, just the silent promise of presence. Of trying. Of staying.

Of choosing each other, finally, at the end of the day.

——

The sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains was almost blinding, and I groaned as I stirred under the thick duvet. My body ached, the heavy kind of ache that comes after days of emotional unraveling and rare softness. I turned over, reaching instinctively to the other side of the bed… but it was empty. Cold.

I blinked hard, eyes adjusting to the brightness. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed.

12:07 PM.

Damn. I sat up quickly, my hair falling messily over my face. I never sleep in this late, not unless I’m sick, drunk, or emotionally destroyed. And this time, I was none of those. Just… tired. Heavier than usual. But not in a bad way.

The silence in the room was oddly peaceful. No Rani in sight. No baby cries. Just the distant sound of muffled laughter downstairs, probably from the kitchen.

I rubbed my face and exhaled slowly, my thoughts still a little foggy from sleep. She’s not here.

She must be downstairs.

I felt the absence of her warmth beside me like a missing piece of fabric in a favorite sweater, small, but impossible to ignore.

Slipping out of bed, I wrapped my silk robe tighter around me and padded barefoot to the ensuite bathroom. I didn’t rush. The urgency that used to follow me every morning was gone. Maybe because I’d handed over a mountain of responsibilities to my secretaries for the first time in years. Or maybe because right now, what mattered more was this home… this fragile, healing thing between Rani and me.

After a splash of cold water on my face and tying my hair back into a low ponytail, I stepped out of the room. The hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of conversation downstairs.

And there it was… that laugh. That unmistakable Rani laugh. Sharp but real.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. I followed the sound slowly, like it was music pulling me back into something good.

Downstairs, I could already smell garlic and oil, maybe adobo. Manang Sally always knew what comfort smelled like. As I reached the foot of the stairs, I paused.

There she was, Rani. Sitting at the dining table in one of her silky pajama sets, holding Faisal in her arms while Manang Sally stood nearby, saying something in Tagalog that made Rani chuckle under her breath.

Faisal was bouncing slightly on her lap, babbling nonsense syllables in his own rhythm, chubby fingers gripping the fabric of Rani’s robe.

Rani glanced up and noticed me standing there.

“Sleeping beauty rises,” she called out, a teasing smirk curling on her lips. “Good afternoon. Want me to get you coffee or… a clock?”

I rolled my eyes, but I felt a real smile rise from somewhere deeper. “Hilarious,” I muttered as I made my way over.

Rani’s gaze softened as I got closer, and she tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”

“I think so,” I said, brushing a hand over Faisal’s hair as he reached for my finger. “I just slept longer than I planned.”

“You needed it,” she said gently, surprising me.

There was no sarcasm. No edge. Just care.

I took the seat beside her, not across from her, not apart. Right there, beside her. Where I could see the way her arms wrapped around our son. Where I could feel the ease slowly building itself into our every movement.

She leaned her head a little toward mine and whispered, “We missed you at breakfast. Anna made sinangag and itlog with spicy vinegar on the side. I saved some.”

I nodded, touched by the simple gesture. “Thanks.”

Faisal let out a loud squeal between us, smacking his little palm against the table. I laughed softly and kissed the top of his head.

This… this quiet morning, this shared smile, this seat beside her, it wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic reconciliation.

It was just another piece of something we were rebuilding. Something real.

I reached for my coffee as Rani handed it to me, the porcelain cup warm against my palm. She didn’t say anything right away, just sat beside me, letting Faisal chew on his teether as he leaned against her chest. It was such a domestic picture that I almost didn’t recognize it as my own life.

But it was. And maybe… I didn’t hate it anymore.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, not looking at me as she adjusted Faisal’s bib. Her voice was soft but sure, like she already knew the answer but still wanted to hear it from me.

“I did,” I admitted, sipping slowly. “More than I expected to. I guess all this slowing down… it’s finally catching up.”

She smiled faintly, still not quite meeting my gaze. “I figured. That’s why I didn’t wake you. You needed rest. You’ve been carrying the weight of a whole empire for years.”

I glanced at her sideways, curious. “Is that your way of saying I look exhausted?”

That finally earned me a laugh, small, but genuine. “No,” she said, giving me a playful nudge with her elbow. “It’s my way of saying… you deserve to stop sometimes. Even just for a week.”

The fact that it was coming from her, Rani Hidalgo, the woman who once couldn’t stand to share oxygen with me, felt strange and oddly comforting. She was still Rani, extra, dramatic, overly detail-oriented. But she was… softer now. With me.

“And you?” I asked. “You’ve been planning every detail of Faisal’s birthday like it’s the Met Gala. Doesn’t seem like rest to me.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. This is my kind of rest. At least this isn’t boardroom politics and shareholder drama. This is… this is for him.”

We both looked down at Faisal, who was now more interested in banging his spoon against the edge of the highchair tray than anything else. His little mouth opened and closed like he was trying to say something, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“You think he’ll remember any of it?” I murmured.

Rani sighed, “No. But I will. You will. We will. It’s not really for him now… it’s for us. For how we’ll remember his first year.”

I turned to look at her fully then, really look at her, the way her lashes curled when she blinked, the faint worry line that appeared when she thought too much, the way her arm stayed wrapped securely around our son like it was second nature now.

“I used to think you hated this life,” I said quietly, almost afraid to break the morning’s stillness. “Being married to me. Having to live like this.”

She finally met my eyes. “I did,” she admitted without flinching. “I hated it. I hated you, too. At first.”

That honesty, not sugarcoated, not dressed up, should’ve hurt. But somehow, it didn’t.

“I hated you too,” I whispered back.

She smiled. “Good. Then we’re even.”

There was a pause, a breath, and then she leaned in, just slightly, brushing her lips against my temple, letting them linger. My eyes closed for a second longer than necessary.

“But now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m starting to see why maybe… this life isn’t so bad.”

I swallowed, the truth of it catching somewhere in my chest.

“Maybe it’s even good,” I said softly.

Rani smiled. “Don’t push it.”

And just like that, we laughed, quietly, warmly. Together.

Not as strangers. Not as rivals. Not even as the broken women we were a year ago.

But as mothers.

As partners.

As something we were still figuring out, one breakfast, one conversation, one soft morning at a time.

——

By the time the clock struck three in the afternoon, the penthouse had shifted into its usual rhythm, quiet but charged, like the calm before something extravagant. I stood by the mirror in the bedroom, adjusting the lapels of my cream blazer, watching my reflection with a faint frown. Not because I didn’t like what I saw, but because this wasn’t just any errand.

This was for Faisal.

Rani emerged from the walk-in closet, her heels clicking softly against the marble tiles. She looked breathtaking, all elegance and purpose in a tailored black dress with a champagne satin belt. She had her signature red lipstick on, like a seal of power. There was something almost cinematic about her when she was this put together, like she walked straight out of a Vogue feature.

“You ready?” she asked, grabbing her clutch, her tone brisk but calm.

I nodded. “You sure you want to drive with me?”

She raised a brow. “What do you think?”

I smirked. “That you’ll end up criticizing my parking again.”

“And I will,” she replied with a straight face, already walking ahead. “But it’s cute when you pretend to care.”

We made our way downstairs where Anna had already packed a diaper bag just in case Faisal needed to be picked up later. He was staying with Nina for now, and as much as I hated not having him in my arms, I also knew we needed these hours. We were preparing something that would be etched in the very beginning of his life story. His first birthday. His first real celebration. The start of a tradition, and maybe, if we kept working at this strange, evolving bond between Rani and me, the beginning of a home that was no longer just made of walls and luxury, but of something real.

In the car, the tension wasn’t there anymore, not like before. Rani scrolled through her phone, probably reviewing mood boards she’d forced the poor stylist to send her at midnight. Meanwhile, I glanced at her now and then, admiring how detailed she could be when she put her heart into something. She was doing this for Faisal. For us.

“You think she’ll get my vision?” Rani asked suddenly, eyes not leaving her screen.

“She doesn’t really have a choice,” I said. “You’ll drag it out of her either way.”

Rani smirked, sliding her phone into her bag. “Exactly.”

We arrived at the stylist’s studio shortly after, a tucked-away atelier in Makati, full of soft light, racks of miniature couture, and the scent of fresh linen and expensive flowers. The stylist, a tall woman named Alessandra with sharp eyes and an impeccable sense of style, welcomed us like we were royalty.

“Ladies, I’ve been waiting all week for this. Faisal’s birthday will be the baby event of the year.”

Rani stepped forward, confidence oozing from every movement. “That’s the goal.”

I followed behind her, quietly observing the way she took command of the space, how she walked like she was born to make things beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, she was.

As we began sorting through options, pastel suits, custom shoes, even a tiny barong Tagalog in case we went traditional for part of the event, I found myself smiling more than I expected. Not just at the clothes. Not even at the sheer ridiculousness of how far we were willing to go for a party he wouldn’t even remember.

But at the sight of Rani, sleeves rolled up, seriously debating whether a powder blue linen set was “too adult” for a one-year-old.

At that moment, I realized something I hadn’t said out loud.

We weren’t just co-parenting anymore.

We were building a life, messy, imperfect, and completely unexpected… but ours.

——

The atelier felt like a dream, soft white walls, golden sunlight, a quiet buzz of assistants moving in the background. Alessandra moved from one rack to another with the fluid grace of someone who knew she was at the top of her game. Rani, of course, matched that energy with her usual effortless command. Every now and then, the two of them would exchange thoughts about fabric textures or how many buttons were “too much” for a baby’s outfit.

I leaned against a velvet loveseat, watching them. Rani was so serious about it, her brow furrowed in concentration as she inspected a tiny pair of patent leather loafers like it was a million-dollar deal. And yet there was something… soft in the way she handled every piece. Gentle. Loving.

“Too formal,” she said suddenly, holding up a white blazer no bigger than her purse. “It’s giving ‘baby CEO,’ not ‘birthday boy.'”

I chuckled. “Are you saying our son can’t be both?”

Rani turned to me with a smirk. “Not until he can spell ‘dividends.'”

I laughed and walked over, brushing my fingers along a tiny linen shirt embroidered with pale gold thread. “What about this?” I asked. “It’s simple. Soft. Classy. Not too loud.”

She studied it for a moment, then nodded. “Pair it with the beige suspenders and those suede shoes… it could work.”

Alessandra clapped her hands together. “Finally! Agreement. I was starting to think I’d need to host a fashion summit just to get the two of you on the same page.”

Rani and I exchanged a look. One of those small, wordless exchanges that had become surprisingly frequent lately, full of teasing, of history, of slow rebuilding.

“We’re just passionate,” Rani said, smoothing her dress as she walked toward the seating area. “Besides, if we don’t argue a little, it wouldn’t be us.”

I sat beside her this time. Not across. Not distant. And I didn’t even think about it until after.

“You know,” I said quietly, leaning closer, “I never imagined doing things like this with you. But I’m… I’m glad it’s you.”

Rani’s lips parted slightly, surprised. She blinked, then looked away, not in annoyance, but almost like she was caught off-guard. “I guess I never imagined myself here either. Picking out baby shoes with you.”

“You’re kind of good at it,” I said, nudging her lightly with my shoulder.

She tilted her head, finally meeting my gaze. “You think so?”

I nodded. “You’re good at this. At being a mom. At showing up for him.”

Rani’s eyes softened. “I’m trying.”

“I see that now.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Like we were settling into something fragile but promising.

Alessandra broke the moment, gliding back into the room with a collection of matching hairpieces, bowties, and baby hats.

“Shall we discuss party looks for the moms now?” she asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Rani straightened. “Absolutely.”

I sighed, mock-dramatic. “Here we go.”

And yet… I smiled. Because this was real. This was happening. Our son was turning one. And for the first time since the mess of our past, I wasn’t dreading the future.

I was walking toward it, hand in hand with Rani, whether or not we were ready to admit that out loud yet.

As Alessandra stepped out momentarily to bring in a fresh rack of outfits, I leaned back into the loveseat, letting the plush velvet cushion me. Rani had pulled out her phone, probably reviewing a checklist again, that familiar wrinkle of concentration between her brows.

“You’ve already triple-checked the guest list, haven’t you?” I asked, teasing gently.

Rani glanced at me over the rim of her phone, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. “Five times, actually. And I still don’t trust Elise not to forget someone.”

“You know she’s probably more organized than both of us combined.”

“Not when it comes to Faisal’s birthday,” she said, slipping her phone back into her purse with a dramatic sigh. “This is war. Against mediocrity.”

I laughed. “You really weren’t kidding when you said ‘no compromises.'”

Rani turned toward me, her voice softening. “He’s our son, Lamia. He only turns one once. I want it to be unforgettable. Not just for the photos, or the posts… but for us. For him to look back one day and see how much we showed up for him.”

I swallowed thickly, my heart catching just a little. It was moments like these when the walls between us cracked.

“I never expected you to be the kind of mother who’d care so much,” I admitted quietly.

Rani gave a small laugh, but it wasn’t bitter, it was tinged with wonder. “Neither did I. But Faisal changed everything.”

I reached for her hand without thinking. My fingers brushing hers gently, then resting there. She didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been looking into the floral setup,” I said. “I found this greenhouse in Tagaytay that grows pastel dahlias and ranunculus. We could have them delivered fresh the morning of the party.”

“That’s perfect,” Rani said. “I want something soft and magical. Not loud. Something that feels like a dream.”

“We’re really turning this into a full-blown fairy garden, huh?” I smiled. “Next thing you know, we’ll be booking live butterflies.”

“I already asked Elise to inquire about that,” Rani replied, deadpan.

I stared at her. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

We burst into laughter together, our voices echoing in the high-ceilinged atelier.

Alessandra returned then, balancing a cascade of hangers. “Okay, mamas,” she said, grinning. “Time to pick your outfits. Coordinated, not matching. You two can’t upstage the birthday boy, but you’re allowed to shine.”

Rani stood and brushed imaginary lint off her lap. “As if I ever needed permission to shine.”

“God help us,” I muttered under my breath, earning another giggle from her.

As Alessandra held up dress options in flowing silks and muted jewel tones, Rani and I moved side by side, touching fabrics, giving opinions, sometimes arguing playfully, sometimes agreeing without saying anything.

It didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

This…whatever we were building, felt like the real beginning.

And it all started with a little boy who brought us both to our knees… and now, back to each other.

I ran my fingers over the soft silk of a midnight blue gown Alessandra held up. The color was striking, and I could already picture how it would look in the soft evening light of the garden party.

Rani’s eyes flicked toward it, then she smiled, that rare, genuine smile that always sent a strange flutter through my chest. “That one suits you, Lamia. Elegant without trying too hard.”

I glanced at her, surprised by the compliment. “Thank you… coming from you, that means a lot.”

She shrugged, but the teasing glint was gone. “Well, someone has to keep you from looking like a disaster.”

We both laughed again, the sound easier now, less forced.

Alessandra pulled out another dress, a blush pink, with delicate lace details that caught the light. “For you, Rani. Something soft but regal.”

Rani took it, turning it over in her hands. “I like this,” she murmured. “Soft, but still commanding.”

I watched her slip into the dressing room to try it on, my heart inexplicably tightening. For the first time in a long while, I felt the warmth of hope, that maybe, just maybe, this life we were trying to build wasn’t so impossible.

When Rani came out, the dress hugged her in all the right places, the lace giving her that perfect mix of toughness and vulnerability. She caught my gaze and smirked. “See? Told you I’d shine.”

I stood and crossed the room to her, my hand sliding gently over her lower back. “You always do.”

Her eyes searched mine, and in that silent moment, I felt the old walls fall further. It was no longer about business or battle, it was about us, fragile and messy but real.

“We still have so much to plan,” I said softly, breaking the moment, “but at least now, it feels like something we can face. Together.”

Rani nodded, resting her forehead briefly against mine. “Together.”

I squeezed her hand. “For Faisal.”

“For Faisal.”

The promise lingered in the air as Alessandra started pulling more options, but for that fleeting moment, the only thing that mattered was the quiet understanding growing between us.

The beginning of something new.