Chapter 44

Rani’s Point Of View

The sky outside was still soft and dark, that deep indigo just before sunrise. The curtains swayed slightly from the breeze through the window I’d left ajar last night, and the room smelled faintly of milk, lavender, and the remnants of Lamia’s perfume on the pillows beside me.

Rebecca’s tiny mouth was latched onto my breast, her warm little body curled close as I cradled her in one arm. She had one hand resting against my chest, her fingers opening and closing slowly, rhythmically, like she was holding on to me in her sleep.

I reached for my phone with my free hand, careful not to jostle her, and turned the brightness down low before unlocking it. I wasn’t expecting anything, just the usual scroll to keep myself awake while feeding. I wasn’t even sure why I opened the app. Maybe just to feel connected to the world, even if it was still sleeping.

The feed was quiet at first. A photo of Lila’s engagement ring. A food reel from that bistro in Old Souk. A meme about breastfeeding that made me smile, ironically.

And then it hit me… like ice water down my spine.

A headline. Bold. Stark. Planted right in the middle of my timeline, shared by some gossip account I didn’t even remember following.

Former Heir of Del Valle Conglomerate, Peterson M. Del Valle, Spotted in Rehab Facility—Family Confirms Drug Addiction and Mental Breakdown.

I blinked.

My thumb hovered over the screen, suddenly trembling.

There was a photo. Grainy. Zoomed in. Clearly taken by someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Peterson, standing at the edge of a courtyard behind a chain-link fence. His once-groomed face was hollow, gaunt. Eyes empty. Shoulders slumped forward like he hadn’t stood tall in weeks. He was wearing a plain gray hoodie and sweatpants, looking nothing like the man who once carried himself like he owned every room he walked into.

And for a moment, I just… stared.

My heart had dropped without warning, pulsing slow and cold behind my ribs.

I hadn’t heard his name in months. Maybe even more than a year. We never spoke of him anymore. Not since…

My hand moved down instinctively, resting on Rebecca’s tiny back. My daughter. The one I got to hold. The one who came after.

Because the first one… didn’t.

Because of him.

Because of that moment. That push.

I remembered falling. I remembered the pain. I remembered Lamia’s face, full of regrets. I remembered the blood. The ambulance. The doctor’s voice. The way I mourned.

And now… he was here. In this photo. In this headline. In rehab.

Looking… broken.

A bitter taste rose at the back of my throat.

Peterson. Lamia’s ex. The one she once said was “the love of her life”. The one who haunted the beginning of our marriage like a ghost that I don’t know how to banish.

And now he looked like one.

I stared at his face, trying to feel something. Anger. Satisfaction. Closure. But all I felt was this… deep, aching emptiness. A weird ache I couldn’t name. Like I was looking at the ghost of a nightmare I’d barely survived, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to mourn it or be grateful it was finally dying.

Rebecca made a soft sound against my chest. I looked down.

She was full now. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips still slightly parted from the feed, cheeks round and pink. I adjusted her gently and began burping her against my shoulder, kissing her temple once, twice.

And still, that image lingered in my mind.

Peterson, empty-eyed and frail, behind that fence.

I locked my phone. I didn’t want to look at it anymore.

I sat in silence for a while, Rebecca’s breath slowing as she started to drift back into sleep. The early light outside was starting to spread, casting soft blue shadows across the floor. But I was still frozen in that headline, in the mess of old wounds it had suddenly ripped open.

I didn’t know what scared me more that Peterson was back in the public eye… or that Lamia hadn’t mentioned a single word about it.

I turned my head slowly, just a little, barely enough to see her.

Lamia was still fast asleep beside me, her face buried halfway into the pillow, hair sprawled in gentle waves across the sheets and her shoulder. She looked so soft like that. So unlike the Lamia everyone else knew, sharp, elegant, always collected in her blouses and heels and perfectly lined lips. This was the version only I got to see. The one who clung to me in the dark when the world felt too loud. The one who mumbled nonsense in her sleep and curled up toward the warmth of my body without even realizing it.

I stared at her, my heart tightening in ways I didn’t expect.

I still couldn’t believe this was where we ended up.

Because if someone had told me back then back when we were first married, back when I couldn’t even say her name without some sort of venom lacing my voice that I’d be lying in bed at five-thirty in the morning breastfeeding our daughter, feeling my chest ache because I couldn’t imagine a life without her I would’ve laughed.

I would’ve told them they were insane.

Because I used to hate her.

God, we hated each other so much.

She was arrogant. Cold. Always perfectly poised, like her emotions were tucked behind her lipstick. And I was stubborn. Guarded. Angry in all the ways I didn’t even realize until I was married to someone who saw right through me.

We didn’t talk. We fought. We slept back-to-back. She made me cry more times than I could count, and I said things I still regret saying even now.

We were a disaster. Beautiful, miserable, slow-burning.

And yet here we were.

And I loved her.

No… I was in love with her.

Somewhere between the slammed doors and the long silences, between the arguments and the tentative apologies, between our first child lost and the second one born… I fell for her.

Hard.

And now, I couldn’t un-love her even if I tried.

I looked at her again, at the gentle way her chest rose and fell, at the faint crease between her brows that stayed even in sleep. I wanted to reach out and smooth it with my thumb, but I didn’t want to wake her. She barely slept these days. Even when she got home late and told me not to wait up, I always did. Because I couldn’t rest unless I knew she was safe beside me.

I couldn’t believe she got my heart. My heart. The one I swore I’d never give to someone who once made me cry on a bathroom floor.

But she did.

She didn’t steal it, she didn’t beg for it.

She earned it. Slowly. Painfully. Softly.

And now the idea of her being away from me for even a moment felt like a thread pulling too tight inside my chest. I didn’t even know when the shift happened. Maybe when she kissed my scars like they were sacred. Maybe when she touched my belly when I was carrying Rebecca and whispered, “We’re doing this right this time.” Maybe when she held me on the anniversary of the loss and didn’t say a word, just held me, like she knew the exact shape of my grief.

I was scared now.

Scared of losing her.

Not because she was perfect. Not because we had some fairytale.

But because she had become my person.

And now that I knew what that meant, what that felt like, I didn’t know how I would survive not having it.

Not having her.

My eyes started to sting, and I blinked them away, pressing my lips to the top of Rebecca’s head as I held her closer. My little girl stirred faintly in her sleep, making a soft sigh, like she could feel my thoughts bleeding through my skin.

I closed my eyes and whispered something only she and I could hear.

Something about how scary it is to love someone this much.

How scary it is… to need them.

Because I used to think needing someone was weakness.

Now I knew it was the bravest thing I’d ever done.

And I hoped… God, I hoped… Lamia knew that.

——

It was just a little past 8:00 a.m., and the sun had already crept through the floor-length curtains of our dining area, casting golden stripes across the polished marble floor. The scent of garlic rice and brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with faint traces of Lamia’s morning perfume. The house was awake, but quiet, one of those calm mornings that felt too delicate to touch.

I was seated at the head of the table with Faisal on my lap, carefully spooning soft scrambled eggs into his mouth while he kept squirming, trying to reach for the tiny panda-shaped rice on his plate instead. His curls were still damp from his bath, sticking to his forehead as he grinned up at me with baby teeth on full display, cheeks still flushed from warm water and lotion.

“Open wide, sweetheart,” I cooed, brushing some jam from the corner of his lips with a cloth napkin and holding the spoon in front of his mouth.

“No, Mama Rani, I want to use my fork like Mama,” he said, pointing toward Lamia, who was seated a few chairs down from us, her elbow propped on the table, phone in one hand, a fork in the other… though she hadn’t really used it.

I smiled gently, helping him adjust his grip on the toddler fork decorated with little bears. “Okay, okay, but no dropping it this time, ha?”

Faisal nodded seriously, like we had just signed a pinky promise.

I glanced toward Lamia.

She was there, present… but not really. Her head was tilted slightly down, her glossy lips slightly pursed as her eyes stayed fixed on her phone screen. She barely noticed the steaming tocino and garlic rice on her plate. She took small bites here and there, more from habit than hunger. Her hair was pulled up in a soft high bun with two strands curled loose beside her cheeks, and she wore one of her pale blush satin blouses tucked into belted linen trousers. Gold hoops peeked out from beneath her hair. Her brows were neatly brushed and faintly furrowed, her thumb scrolling at a steady rhythm. Her coffee sat untouched to her left, lipstick still perfect on the rim.

I watched her for a few more seconds than I probably should have. Wondering what she was reading. Wondering if she’d seen the same thing I did earlier. The article. Peterson. That name still felt like vinegar on my tongue.

But Lamia’s face didn’t betray anything. Just blank focus. Calm, poised, beautiful. Like always. Sometimes I hated how well she hid her thoughts behind those glossy lashes.

“Mama,” I called gently.

She didn’t look up at first, not until I called again… slightly firmer this time. “Lamia.”

Her eyes flicked up quickly, like I’d tugged her from somewhere else entirely. “Hmm?”

“You haven’t touched your coffee,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice even.

She blinked, then looked down at the mug beside her. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot.”

Forgot. Lamia? Forgetting coffee? She practically needed it to function. She once had a breakdown in Paris because her oat milk latte came with regular milk. This wasn’t like her.

I nodded, feeding Faisal another piece of egg while watching her lift the cup and take a tiny sip, more like she was humoring me than actually drinking.

The silver clinked softly against the porcelain. Outside, I could hear the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds from the courtyard. Nina was in the nursery, she’d gone up just a few minutes ago to check on Rebecca after finishing her breakfast early. My little girl was still asleep, probably curled up like a tiny croissant in her bassinet, warm and milk-drunk from earlier.

The domestic quiet should’ve been comforting. But my chest felt a little tight, like I was bracing for something and didn’t know what.

Faisal suddenly dropped his fork… of course, and leaned forward dramatically to reach it under the table.

“Wait, baby, I’ll get it,” I said quickly, placing a hand on his waist so he wouldn’t tumble forward in his fluffy pink pajamas.

Lamia stood halfway before I even could, muttering, “I got it,” but by the time she rounded the side of the table, I had already picked it up and wiped it clean with the napkin beside me.

“Thanks,” I said, looking up at her.

Our eyes met briefly. Her gaze was unreadable, like there were words hovering on her lips, undecided on whether they were worth saying.

“Faisal wants to be like you,” I said gently, offering her a small smile. “He said he wants to eat with his fork like Mama.”

A flicker of softness passed across Lamia’s face. The smallest upturn of her glossed lips. “Did he?”

I nodded, brushing a stray curl off our son’s forehead. “He notices you. Even when you think he doesn’t.”

Lamia looked at him for a moment, her gaze softening like silk. Then she returned to her seat slowly, carefully, placing her phone face down beside her plate this time, nail tips tapping once on the glass before she let go.

That simple act, hiding the screen, didn’t go unnoticed.

But I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

I just watched her poke at her food again, now with slightly more attention. She finally took a small bite of the tocino and sipped her coffee with a kind of reluctant effort.

I leaned back a little, careful not to let Faisal slip as he busied himself with nibbling at a piece of his panda rice, one hand still gripping my wrist for balance like he thought I might disappear if he let go.

Lamia was finishing her bite of garlic rice, silent again, and though her face was angled toward her plate, I could still see her phone, screen down, but its weight obvious.

The silence was pressing in again. I hated it when it got like this, like we were talking around things instead of to each other.

So I cleared my throat lightly, my voice soft. “Hey… what do you want for dinner later?”

Her gaze lifted to mine, slow and almost reluctant. “Hmm?”

“I’m planning to cook tonight,” I said, keeping my tone light, casual… normal. “I figured we’d eat in the garden. You’ve been working too hard. So I thought I’d cook something you like. Maybe pasta? Or grilled salmon? Something a little… romantic.” I smiled faintly. “I’ll even let you light the candles this time.”

She blinked, looking at me, and I could tell, something in her was trying to appreciate it. To match the softness I was offering. But then her face changed slightly. A small wince. Almost like she hated what she was about to say.

“Rani…” she began, and that alone made my stomach dip.

She always said my name like that when she was about to disappoint me.

“I can’t stay home tonight,” she said finally. “The board’s meeting got moved up. Two of our partners are flying in unexpectedly this afternoon. I have to be there.”

I nodded slowly, keeping my expression steady even though my fingers curled tighter around Faisal’s little waist. “I thought you told me yesterday you weren’t going to work today?”

“I wasn’t,” she said quickly, putting her fork down. “I meant it when I said it. I even blocked out my schedule. But this wasn’t planned. I can’t just miss it, babe. It’s the whole East Wing project.”

Babe.

I knew she only used that word when she felt guilty. It landed softly, but it didn’t take the edge off.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound as flat as I felt. “I’ll just meet up with Rabina then. We haven’t seen each other in a while, and she’s been begging me to go shopping with her. I think we both need some sister time.”

I expected a quick nod. Maybe even relief that I had plans too. But instead…

“No,” Lamia said firmly, a little too fast.

I blinked. “No?”

“I mean… don’t go today,” she said, adjusting her tone. “Just wait for me. I’ll try to clear up time later this week or early next. I want to go shopping with you. Let’s do it together.”

I stared at her for a moment, unsure how to react.

She wasn’t looking at me like she was being controlling. It was something else entirely protective, maybe. Or possessive. But wrapped in something that looked… fragile.

“You don’t have to,” I said gently. “It’s not a big thing. Just girly errands. Some baby stuff, maybe a new dress, a café stop. It’s not like I’m running off to Monaco.”

Lamia’s eyes flicked to her phone briefly, then back at me. “I know, but I want to be with you. Not Rabina. Not anyone else. Just… wait for me, please?”

Faisal, in his perfect toddler timing, shoved another ball of rice into his mouth and said around it, “Mama come shopping, too!”

That made Lamia smile, real this time. The first one all morning that wasn’t forced or tired.

I stared at her across the table, wondering why she suddenly looked so firm about it. Lamia didn’t usually care about things like this. She didn’t mind when I spent time with my sisters or went on solo errands. She never made a fuss unless…

Unless she was worried about something.

I just nodded slowly, letting the silence fall between us again as I stroked Faisal’s back and took a sip from my lukewarm tea.

“All right,” I murmured. “We’ll wait.”

——

It was around 1:00 p.m. when the doorbell rang.

Faisal was on the floor of the living room with his alphabet blocks scattered in front of him, halfway through building a very abstract version of “a car.” I had just finished folding the last of Rebecca’s freshly washed onesies, lavender and powder pink, all soft cotton with ruffled sleeves and I was still barefoot, my hair loosely tied in a ribbon.

I knew who it was before I even checked the monitor.

Rabina.

I walked toward the door with Rebecca swaddled in one arm, still sleepy-eyed from her post-lunch feed, and pressed the intercom. “Come up. Door’s unlocked.”

A few seconds later, I heard the familiar clack of wedges on marble floor and then the quiet creak of the door swinging open.

“Raniii,” Rabina said in a sing-song voice as she stepped inside with her oversized nude leather tote slung over one arm and a pair of matching sunglasses pushed up into her beach-blown waves. “I brought matcha and potato chips. Because I’m dramatic like that.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You’re insane,” I said, shifting Rebecca higher against my shoulder as I leaned in for a side hug. “You should’ve made me come to you.”

“I did make you. But you’re on a leash,” she said with an exaggerated pout, her voice low as she followed me into the living room. “So I adjusted.”

I sighed, gently easing onto the couch while she plopped down beside me, kicking off her wedges like it was her own condo. Which, knowing her, it basically was.

“I’m sorry,” I said honestly, brushing my thumb lightly over Rebecca’s back. “Lamia didn’t want me to go out today. She got called into a last-minute board meeting and… I don’t know. She just asked me to wait. Said she wants to go shopping with me instead.”

Rabina gave me a look. One of those sister looks that didn’t need words to land.

“Girl,” she said slowly, opening the bag of sinigang chips. “That woman is not your parole officer.”

“I know,” I murmured, eyes on the baby in my arms. “But she’s been so tired lately. Distant, too. I didn’t want to pick a fight about it. I figured I’d let her have this one.”

“She’s always been possessive. But this…” Rabina raised an eyebrow as she popped a chip into her mouth. “It’s starting to feel like territorial. You’re married, not detained.”

I cracked a faint smile. “Stop. Don’t start.”

She shrugged, chewing. “I’m not judging. I actually think it’s kind of hot. In a slightly ‘mob wife’ kind of way. But still. A little overprotective.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, letting her words linger.

Lamia was being protective. That much was true. And there was a part of me that secretly, guiltily liked it, the way she tried to guard my time, keep me close. But today, it had felt different. Not just protective.

Possessive. Maybe even… insecure?

And that wasn’t like her.

Rebecca shifted in my arms, stretching slightly before letting out the tiniest sigh. Her eyelashes were so long they brushed against her cheeks like delicate feathers.

“She’s beautiful,” Rabina said, leaning closer. “She looks just like you.”

“She has Lamia’s lips,” I whispered, smiling softly. “And her feet. Tiny, but bossy.”

Rabina laughed. “Figures.”

Faisal suddenly looked up from the carpet and squealed, “Tita Bina!”

Rabina beamed and opened her arms. “Come here, my handsome boy!”

He ran toward her with his usual full-speed toddler sprint, and she caught him mid-air, planting noisy kisses all over his cheeks while he giggled uncontrollably.

“You spoil them,” I teased, watching the scene.

“I spoil you, too,” she said, sticking out her tongue at me.

I smiled but looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I adjusted Rebecca again.

“I don’t know,” I murmured after a pause. “I feel like something’s off with Lamia. Like she’s thinking about something she doesn’t want to say.”

Rabina, still holding Faisal on her lap, looked at me thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s because of him?”

I didn’t say anything.

But I didn’t need to.

She nodded slowly. “I saw the article too.”

And just like that, the air thickened.

We didn’t speak about Peterson much. Not since… everything. And definitely not since Lamia and I had rebuilt what we nearly lost.

I glanced down at Rebecca’s sleeping face.

The child that followed the one we didn’t get to meet.

“But Lamia is so loyal right now,” Rabina said as she reached for the sippy cup Faisal had knocked over. She was seated cross-legged on the playmat, her cream pleated pants bunched up at the knees, gold hoops glinting under the living room lights. “She looks so invested in you, Rani.”

The words hung there for a second, soft but loud, delicate but weighty. I blinked, barely registering what I was doing as I adjusted Rebecca’s blanket over her feet. She was still asleep in my arms, her small fingers curled lightly against my blouse like she’d clung to me even in her dreams.

I looked at Rabina.

“She does?” I asked, the question sliding out like I didn’t mean for it to sound so unsure. But it was true, I needed to hear it from someone else’s mouth. From someone outside this house. Outside my head.

“She really does,” Rabina said again, this time with more conviction as she turned back to the toy blocks. “I mean, I didn’t like her at first, you know that. I hated how she talked to you before. The tone, the distance, like she was trying not to catch feelings.” She looked at me directly. “But now? You’d have to be blind not to see how far gone she is.”

I gave a quiet chuckle, almost embarrassed. “You think she’s far gone?”

“She’s drowning,” Rabina grinned. “And she likes it.”

That made me laugh… really laugh, and Rebecca stirred just slightly in my arms. I hushed her gently, running my thumb over her chubby cheek, before looking back at Rabina with a quiet smile.

“I don’t know when it started to change,” I said, my voice dipping a little lower, softer. “Before, we couldn’t even be in the same room without biting each other’s heads off. I used to dread waking up beside her. And now…”

I trailed off. Now I missed her even when she was in the next room.

Now I felt like the hours stretched when she wasn’t home, like I was waiting for something I couldn’t name to arrive with the sound of her heels in the hallway.

“Now you’re a wife in love,” Rabina teased, nudging the blocks toward Faisal again. “Welcome to the club, sweetheart. It’s disgusting.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “I didn’t plan this.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” she said, not looking at me now, her tone suddenly light but grounded. “Sometimes the love that really breaks you open is the one you didn’t prepare for.”

I leaned back against the velvet cushions, careful not to jostle Rebecca, and let that thought sit with me for a moment. The quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the space between us. Outside the penthouse windows, the skyline was bright, still humming with traffic and late lunch crowds. But here, in this bubble of carpet and toys and sleepy babies, everything felt still.

“She’s loyal now,” Rabina repeated more gently. “Like, really. I can tell. Even the way she looks at you? That’s not possession. That’s not control. That’s… deep.”

I pressed my cheek against Rebecca’s soft head, her baby scent grounding me.

“She didn’t used to be,” I whispered. “You know that.”

“I do,” Rabina said. “But she is now. And you know what? It suits her. Being this version of herself. I think she found peace with you.”

I stared at the far wall, heart suddenly fragile.

——

It was past midnight when I felt it.

Something soft. Warm. Familiar.

A brush against my lips.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. That half-asleep kind of dream where everything feels real, like silk and sighs and moonlight. But then I felt it again. A kiss. Slower this time, lingering. The kind that didn’t just touch skin, it asked to be remembered.

My lashes fluttered open.

And there she was.

Lamia.

Hovering over me with that tired, guilty, unspoken-sorry kind of look. Her hair was down, slightly tousled, some pieces clinging to her cheeks from the Manila humidity. Her blazer was half-off her shoulder, and her blouse was crumpled like she’d driven home with her head against the window. She smelled faintly of musk and night air, like she hadn’t been in a room with peace for hours.

But still… she was here.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice low and raspy, like she didn’t want to wake the world. Only me.

My heart jolted softly in my chest. I blinked once. Twice. “You just got home?”

She nodded, her eyes scanning my face like she missed it all day. “Didn’t want to wake you. I just…” she sighed, closing the distance to kiss the corner of my mouth, “…needed to kiss you.”

I swallowed the dryness in my throat and shifted slightly in bed, the sheets rustling around me. The lamp was still off, but the hallway light from behind her spilled enough glow into the room to trace the shape of her, collarbones, cheekbones, the dip of her waist under her shirt.

She looked exhausted.

But she was still here.

“What time is it?” I asked softly.

“Midnight,” she answered, brushing some of my hair back behind my ear with a tender touch. Her fingers lingered at my jaw.

“You promised not to go to work today,” I murmured, not accusing, just a truth between tired lovers.

“I know,” she whispered, eyes full of regret. “The board pulled me in. It wasn’t supposed to be all day.”

I nodded faintly, my hands finding her waist under her untucked blouse. Her skin was warm. She felt alive.

“You didn’t text,” I said, trying not to sound hurt but knowing it was there, thick in my voice.

“I didn’t want to give you false hope I’d make it on time,” she admitted. “I thought… I don’t know. That I could just come home and hold you and maybe it’d be okay.”

My eyes stung unexpectedly.

Not from anger. Not from disappointment.

From the softness in her voice. The quiet desperation in the way she touched my cheek with her thumb, like she needed to touch me to believe I was real.

I looked at her… really looked.

There were bags under her eyes. A faint line between her brows. Her lipstick had faded completely. But her lips… were still mine. Her hands, still gentle. Her eyes, still begging without asking.

“You’re here now,” I whispered. “That’s what matters.”

Lamia leaned down again, pressing her forehead to mine. She smelled like car leather, vanilla body wash, and city wind.

“I missed you so much today,” she said, almost like a confession. “It felt wrong not being with you.”

I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her down until her weight rested over me, carefully, cautiously, like she didn’t want to crush me or Rebecca, who was sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside the bed.

“Then stay,” I murmured against her hair. “Don’t go anywhere else tonight. Just stay.”

She kissed my neck. Then my jaw. Then the space just below my ear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

And I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until the words melted straight into my bones.

Lamia’s weight was draped over me like a comfort I didn’t know I’d been craving all day. Her arms were tight around my waist, her nose pressed into my neck, and her breath was warm, syncing gently with mine. I could feel the tension bleeding from her shoulders the longer she stayed still, like she’d finally let herself exhale after holding everything in.

And for a moment, the room felt like a cocoon. Quiet. Safe. Nothing existed beyond this bed, this night, her body wrapped around mine like a secret we were both keeping.

I was the first to speak, my voice small, tired, but laced with a softness I didn’t even try to hide. “You know what I was thinking earlier while breastfeeding Rebecca?”

Lamia hummed against my skin. “What, baby?”

I smiled faintly and let my hand trace lazy circles along her spine through the fabric of her shirt. “That if I could be pregnant every nine months just to keep you beside me twenty-four-seven… I would.”

She lifted her head, just enough to look at me, wide-eyed, caught off guard, like she wasn’t sure if I was joking or serious.

I wasn’t joking.

Not at all.

Her mouth opened slightly like she wanted to say something, but I beat her to it.

“I’m serious,” I said, biting my lip with a quiet laugh. “It’s the only time you’re glued to me. Every craving, every mood swing, every little foot cramp, I get your hand holding mine. I get you rubbing my back at 2 a.m., cooking me weird food combinations without complaint, leaving meetings just to come home early.”

She stared at me, lips parting, but she still didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

So I kept going.

“And now that Rebecca’s here, and I’m not pregnant anymore… you’re slipping again. Work is winning. Life is pulling you away.” My voice cracked slightly, but I covered it with a small smile. “So maybe if I was pregnant again… you’d stay.”

“Rani…” she whispered, the guilt in her voice obvious, like she hated herself for the truth in my words.

I shook my head gently and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not actually asking you to knock me up again right this second. I just… I miss you. That’s all.”

Her eyes softened instantly. She leaned into my palm like it was the only anchor she had. “I didn’t know you felt like this. I mean… I knew I’ve been busy, but…”

“You think I don’t notice?” I said gently. “The phone calls that come in when we’re supposed to be having a family yime. The way you glance at your screen while feeding Faisal. You think I don’t see how your eyes are always somewhere else lately?”

Lamia shut her eyes, her forehead pressing into mine like she was ashamed to be seen.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I nodded once. “I know. I’m just scared sometimes. That maybe work gives you something I can’t.”

“No,” she said quickly, firmly now. “Don’t ever think that. It doesn’t give me you.”

I bit my lip again, trying not to cry. “Then show me. Please.”

Lamia’s lips met mine, soft, slow, and lingering like a vow. Then she kissed my cheek. My nose. My forehead. Every touch was a promise she didn’t know how to say with words.

“I’ll do better,” she whispered. “You won’t have to get pregnant every nine months to keep me around, I swear.”

I chuckled, finally, as tears fell down anyway, half from laughter, half from relief.

“That’s good,” I whispered back. “Because I think my uterus is filing for a break.”