Chapter 46

Rani’s Point Of View

The morning light slanted through the wide glass doors of the dining room, soft gold melting over the marble floor. The quiet hum of the air conditioning mixed with the occasional chirp from outside. Santa Rosa always felt calmer, slower. And this morning, that calm was the only thing holding me together.

I sat at the head of the long dining table, hair in a low bun, still in my silk robe, cream with embroidered initials over the chest. My laptop was open in front of me, Zoom interface occupying the screen, and the small boxes of faces of my board members were already in deep discussion.

“…and if we shift the production to the Cavite facility by next quarter,” Gerald from operations was saying, “we’ll cut at least eight percent from logistics costs.”

“Make it ten,” I said, not looking away from the screen as I sliced into the papaya on my plate. “If we’re moving that volume, renegotiate the contract. And I want that draft on my desk by lunch.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Kiyang slowly walking around with Rebecca in her arms, gently swaying. My baby girl was in her morning onesie… peach with tiny clouds, and her eyes were still half-shut, resting against the curve of Kiyang’s shoulder. She was so quiet in the mornings. Unlike Faisal, who…

“More banana?” he asked, small fingers holding his tiny fork up to me from two seats away.

I leaned toward him slightly, pressing mute on Zoom with a flick of my nail. “Finish your melon first, mahal. Then you get more banana.”

He frowned a little but obeyed, stabbing another cube of melon into his mouth like it had wronged him.

I clicked back on. “Also, tell finance I want a weekly cash flow forecast until end of Q3. There’s too much volatility in the market, and I’m not gambling on guesswork.”

Heads nodded across the screen. No one questioned me. They never did, not when I was like this. Efficient. Direct. Ruthless, some said. But they didn’t see the newborn being rocked behind me. They didn’t hear the toddler humming while chewing his fruit. They didn’t know I was holding myself together with black coffee and adrenaline.

Because beneath all this poise, my chest still ached. My stomach still twisted.

I hadn’t slept much.

Even here, away from Lamia, away from the penthouse, I could feel the echo of last night clinging to me like perfume that refused to fade. Her voice, her expression, her tears. They all played on loop in my head while I tried to focus on inventory logistics.

“Ma’am Rani, the charts for the Dubai expansion…” someone began.

“Share your screen,” I interrupted. “I want to see numbers. Not just your voice.”

He flinched slightly and complied. My eyes scanned the graphs, dissecting them without missing a beat.

Then Rebecca let out a tiny coo.

I looked over my screen for the briefest second and saw Kiyang smiling at her. She whispered something in baby talk, bouncing her gently. Rebecca’s fingers gripped the fabric of her yaya’s blouse like they were made to hold on.

My heart squeezed.

I pressed mute again, lowering my voice.

“Kiyang,” I called, glancing at her. “After the meeting, make sure Rebecca gets her tummy time, please. And double her milk before her nap. She didn’t feed well last night.”

“Opo, Ma’am Rani,” she said warmly, rocking the baby just a little more. “Ako na po ang bahala.”

“And Faisal?” I looked at my son, now licking mango juice from his fingers.

“Papaliguan ko na po siya pagkatapos kumain. Ihahanda ko na rin po ang oatmeal niya mamaya” she assured, still bouncing Rebecca with gentle care.

I gave her a grateful look. “Salamat, Kiyang.”

Then I unmuted again.

“Sorry. Where were we?”

I leaned forward again, fully back into CEO mode. But my thoughts… my thoughts never left my children… or Lamia.

“…we were discussing the timeline for the Dubai expansion,” Monica repeated from the top right box on my screen. Her voice had that same overly polite tone she always used when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. “We’re targeting December, but legal is still waiting for the zoning clearance.”

I clicked my pen once.

Then twice.

The sound echoed sharply in the dining area before I finally said, “Why are we targeting December if legal doesn’t even have the clearance in hand?”

She blinked, caught.

“Ma’am… well, we’re anticipating the approval…”

I leaned slightly toward the camera, my tone dropping like a blade. “I don’t pay people to anticipate. I pay you to prepare. I don’t care if the projection looks good on paper, if we’re throwing numbers and dates around without a foundation, then we’re not expanding. We’re gambling.”

Monica’s face flushed pink. She lowered her gaze. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll coordinate with legal again today.”

“Do more than coordinate,” I snapped, slicing through a piece of melon with unnecessary force. “I want that clearance fast-tracked. No delays, no excuses. If you need to fly someone to Dubai to push papers, do it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Gerald cleared his throat. “We can also redirect the support team to help Monica’s group. At least until the permits are done.”

I nodded slightly. “Good. Do it. And Gerald, double-check the costing on that warehouse acquisition near Jebel Ali. I don’t want hidden maintenance surprises after we move in.”

“Already on it,” he answered, glancing at something off-screen on his end.

The clock on my laptop read 7:19 AM.

Rebecca had fallen asleep now, cheek pressed gently against Kiyang’s shoulder. Her breathing slow, her tiny hands relaxed. Faisal was now playing with his spoon, smearing mango juice across his placemat like it was finger paint. I didn’t stop him.

“Next,” I said, sipping from my mug. “Let’s talk about the Q4 campaign. I heard there were changes in the tagline?”

“Marketing revised it,” replied Elsa from the creative team. Her video showed her still in a hoodie, probably at home. “We were aiming for a softer tone. Something more… emotional. Less power, more purpose.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“More purpose?” I repeated, setting my mug down with a soft clink. “Our brand is built on strength. Stability. Innovation. We’re not a skincare line. We’re a global infrastructure and energy company.”

“I understand, Ma’am,” she replied quickly. “We just thought, since your recent campaigns featured your family and motherhood… maybe we could highlight a softer side of leadership?”

I tilted my head.

“I allowed that personal feature because it was a PR strategy,” I said coolly. “But I’m not building a company that depends on my domestic life to thrive. We’re not selling me. We’re selling what we build. What we own. I want that tagline redone by tomorrow. No softness. No apologies. We don’t whisper at Paragon Enterprises… we lead.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Elsa muttered.

A brief silence followed.

Then Ryan from business development leaned forward, clearly shifting gears. “On the investor side, we have two pending meetings, one in Singapore, one in Qatar. We’ll need to finalize the Q3 brief for both. Do you still want to personally lead the pitch, Ma’am?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

“Even with the kids?”

The way he said it was careful. Almost respectful. But it didn’t land well.

I felt the air still slightly in my lungs.

I met his gaze through the camera. “Do I look like I can’t?”

“No, Ma’am. Not at all. I just…”

“Then I’ll lead both meetings.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I gave a slow breath through my nose. Re-centered.

Behind me, Kiyang began humming gently as she carried Rebecca out toward the hallway. Faisal looked up at me with a grin full of fruit juice, then held out his sticky spoon proudly. “Mama, look!”

I smiled faintly… just for him, then turned back to the screen.

“Anything else?” I asked, voice sharper again.

“Just one more thing,” Monica added, clearly still nervous. “There’s an industry forum next week in BGC. Most of the other CEOs will be there, press coverage included. Will you be attending?”

I stared at her.

And without pause, I said, “Tell them to save me a seat.”

Because even with a broken heart, even while nursing a baby, and managing a toddler in the middle of a storm… I was still Rani Hidalgo.

I was about to wrap the meeting up myself when the doorbell rang, one short buzz, then two longer ones.

My brows furrowed slightly.

Faisal looked up from his fruit mess like he, too, sensed something was about to shift.

A few seconds later, I heard footsteps, quiet, composed, Kiyang’s style. Then the gentle creak of the heavy front door opening, followed by the familiar sound of polite hesitation in her voice.

“Ma’am,” Kiyang called out from the hallway, holding her tone carefully steady. “Nandito po si Ma’am Lamia.”

Everything stilled.

Even the small breeze from the open window felt like it paused for that one moment.

My hand, which had been hovering over the keyboard, slowly curled into a fist.

I saw a flicker of confusion from the people on the Zoom call. Monica’s mouth opened slightly, like she was going to say something, but I beat her to it.

“I have to go,” I said flatly. “Meeting adjourned.”

Then I clicked End Meeting before anyone could respond.

The screen went black, my reflection staring back at me faintly on the now-silent laptop. My jaw clenched as I closed it with a quiet click.

Behind me, I heard soft footsteps.

I didn’t need to turn around.

I knew that sound. I knew that silence. I could feel her presence in the air, like gravity shifting inside my own home.

I took a deep breath before I turned.

And there she was.

Lamia.

Standing by the edge of the dining room, framed by the soft early morning light coming from the living room windows, in a pale blue blouse I didn’t recognize. No makeup. Hair slightly frizzy from humidity. But her eyes… those eyes, held everything she didn’t know how to say.

Faisal turned on his chair and gasped. “Mama Mia!”

My heart pinched.

“Hi, baby,” Lamia said softly, her voice catching.

Faisal beamed at her, but I quickly reached for his hand. “Finish your fruit, anak. Kiyang, please bring Rebecca upstairs.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Kiyang said quickly, sensing the storm thick in the room. She gently took Rebecca, still half-asleep from her carrier and carried her out quietly, not daring to even glance back at Lamia.

Now it was just us.

My hand rested flat on the table as I looked at her, finally. Really looked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice calm. Too calm.

“I needed to see you.”

My laugh was dry. “Now you need to see me.”

Lamia stepped forward a little, but not too close. She knew better. “I didn’t sleep all night. I kept thinking of what you said, of how I made you feel. And Faisal. And the baby…”

“You don’t get to say their names like that,” I cut her off, my voice sharpening. “You don’t get to show up here like this after lying to me and expect that everything’s fine.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not expecting that. I’m not.”

I crossed my arms, exhaling slowly, deliberately. “Then what are you expecting?”

“I just…” Her voice cracked, and she looked down at her feet. “I needed to be near you. I needed to explain. Or try. I couldn’t just let you leave without…”

“I didn’t leave,” I snapped. “I took our children away from something that wasn’t safe anymore. I didn’t run away. I protected them.”

She flinched.

Good.

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry, Rani.”

I turned slightly, pacing slowly toward the other side of the table, needing movement to keep from crumbling. “Sorry doesn’t cut it this time. You lied to me. You saw your ex behind my back. You chose to do that even after everything we went through… after what he did to me.”

Lamia opened her mouth but closed it again, her eyes glossy. “I wasn’t thinking…”

“No,” I hissed. “You were. You were thinking about him. You were thinking about your guilt, or your past, or whatever it is you still carry for him. But not about me. Not about Rebecca. Not about Faisal. Not about what it would do to me.”

Silence hung thick between us, and I could feel the weight of my own heartbreak pressing harder into my ribs.

I placed both palms flat on the table, grounding myself.

She took one tentative step forward. “I just want to talk. Please. Even if you scream at me, even if you never forgive me… I’ll take it. Just don’t shut me out.”

I didn’t even realize I was trembling until my nails scratched slightly against the edge of the dining table, my palms still pressed flat against it, like they were the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

Lamia stood there, still not moving closer. She was cautious now. Careful. Like she was walking on glass. Maybe she was.

My chest heaved once before I looked at her again, meeting those eyes I used to search for in every crowded room.

But today… all I saw was betrayal.

“You know what really hurts me,” I started, voice tight, so tight I could barely push the words out. “Is the fact that you lied on my fucking face.”

She flinched.

I didn’t raise my voice, not yet, but the weight behind those words must’ve felt like a slap.

“I asked you where you were. I trusted your answer. I let it go because I wanted to believe you, Lamia. I wanted to believe that after everything… after all we’ve been through… you wouldn’t do that to me again.”

She opened her mouth, but I didn’t let her speak yet.

“Do you know what that does to someone?” I continued, stepping away from the table slowly, walking toward her with the ache of every sleepless night burned into my bones. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to look into the eyes of the woman you love and realize she’s lying, but you keep pretending not to see it? You just keep hoping she’ll come clean before it destroys you?”

Lamia’s lips parted, and her voice cracked when she finally whispered, “I’m sorry… habibti…”

Hearing that word… habibti, almost shattered me.

Almost.

Because part of me still wanted to fall into it. Into her. Into the warmth of a comfort I wasn’t sure was mine anymore.

But another part, the mother, the wife, the broken woman standing in front of the shards of her trust, refused to let go that easily.

“Don’t,” I said, raising one hand to stop her, my voice shaking now. “Don’t call me that right now. Don’t say ‘habibti’ like you didn’t betray everything it means.”

She blinked fast, and I saw it, that glint of tears she was trying to blink away. But I didn’t care. Not right now.

“You promised me,” I whispered, voice cracking. “When we lost our first baby because of him, because of Peterson, you said you’d never let anything like that happen again. You said you hated him. That you cut him off. You held me while I bled through that trauma, Lamia. While I screamed in pain. While I begged not to lose her, our daughter who never even got a name.”

Lamia’s hands clenched again at her sides. Her breathing was shallow now.

“I know,” she said, barely audible. “I know, Rani… and I hate myself for it. I do. There’s no excuse… none. I was selfish. I didn’t think. I didn’t want you to be hurt again, but in trying to avoid that, I did exactly what I feared. I hurt you. Worse.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the sob in.

“You looked me in the eye and lied,” I repeated, softer now, my voice almost gone. “Do you know how much it takes for me to believe someone? How long it took me to open up to you? After everything?”

She nodded slowly. “I do. And I destroyed it. I know that.”

Silence fell again.

I could hear the birds outside. The faint clink of a spoon hitting the ceramic bowl in the kitchen, probably from Faisal’s abandoned fruit plate. I could hear the world moving. But inside this room, it felt like everything had just… stopped.

Lamia stepped forward… just one step.

“Please,” she said, her voice trembling. “Let me explain everything. Not to fix it… because I know I can’t fix it in one morning. But because you deserve the truth. All of it. No more lies.”

I looked at her.

I stood there, not moving, not blinking, watching Lamia breathe like the weight of the entire world had settled on her shoulders. She wasn’t crying… yet, but her hands were shaking now, barely noticeable unless you were looking. And I was.

Because that’s all I could do.

Look at the woman who broke me.

And give her one last chance.

“One thing,” I finally said, voice low but cutting like ice. “Just one.”

She blinked fast, eyebrows furrowing. “What…?”

I took a breath, held it in my chest for a beat, and then let it go like I was releasing everything we had built together into the air between us.

“Make your explanation acceptable,” I said clearly, voice louder now. Steadier. “Because if you don’t… I swear to God, Lamia. I will divorce you. Right here. Right now.”

It was like I slapped her.

Her eyes widened, color drained from her face, and I saw it. The sheer panic. Like her world… our world, had been ripped out from under her and all she had left was the ground shaking beneath her feet.

“Rani…” she breathed, her voice catching. “No. Please. Please don’t say that. Don’t do that habibti…”

“You think I want to say it?” I snapped. My voice cracked, too loud for the calm of this morning, but I didn’t care. “Do you think I wanted to be this person? The wife threatening divorce while our children are in the other room eating bananas and being held by someone else because I can’t trust you to be near them right now?”

She tried to come closer. I backed up.

“Rani, please…” she whispered, shaking her head, like the thought alone was too much. “I can explain. I need to explain…”

“Then do it!” I barked. “Explain! Right now. This is the last time I’ll ever ask you to.”

She froze. Her chest was rising and falling fast now, and I could see her lip trembling the way it did when she was trying to hold back a sob. I didn’t care. She needed to break. She needed to feel what I was feeling.

“Okay,” she choked out, finally. “Okay. I’ll explain. Everything.”

I folded my arms again, holding myself like armor. “Go ahead.”

She took a deep breath, then another, and then slowly walked toward the end of the table, but she didn’t sit. She didn’t dare.

Her voice got softer. “His mother is dying, Rani.”

“Dove… she’s overwhelmed. She called me. She was crying. She didn’t know what to do. They’re not close to anyone else, and… and Dove and I, we were best friends once, you know that. She didn’t ask me to see him as his ex. She asked me to help her manage him. Peterson was spiraling again.”

My arms stayed crossed, but my chest felt tight.

“She begged me,” Lamia said, eyes glassy. “Not as his person. As hers. And I went. For her. Because she didn’t know how to handle it. Because she thought he might harm himself.”

A silence stretched between us.

“That’s all it was,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “That’s all it ever was. Nothing more. Nothing less. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want to reopen that door. I just… couldn’t say no to someone who once felt like my sister. And I know it was stupid. I know it was reckless. But it wasn’t betrayal.”

I stared at her.

“And you couldn’t tell me that?” I said, quieter this time, but still sharp. “You couldn’t trust me with that?”

“I was scared,” she whispered. “Scared you’d think there was more to it. That you’d think I was hiding feelings. That you’d… stop believing in us again.”

“And you didn’t think lying would make that worse?” I said through gritted teeth.

She nodded. “I know. I know it did. I just…” her voice cracked, “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

Tears finally slipped past her lashes.

She didn’t wipe them away.

“I love you, Rani,” she whispered. “I love our family. I love our home. I didn’t go there for him. I went because I felt I owed it to Dove. And I am so, so sorry.”

I stood there, unmoving.

She moved before I could even think…
two steps forward, and then her arms were around me.

Warm. Familiar. Desperate.

I didn’t hug her back.

I couldn’t.

But she didn’t care.

“Sorry, habibti,” she whispered against my shoulder, voice cracking with every syllable. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Her grip tightened around my waist, like letting go would mean losing me forever. Her body was trembling. Her cheek pressed into my collarbone, and I could feel her breath hitch, feel her chest rise and fall in short, panicked bursts. She wasn’t sobbing loud. She wasn’t making a scene. But she was breaking… quietly, completely… right in my arms.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she murmured again, softer this time. “Wallah, I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

I stood still as stone.

Because what was I supposed to do? Wrap my arms around her and pretend none of this mattered? That her lies didn’t rip something from me? That I wasn’t still standing on shaking ground, unsure if this was the moment everything finally fell apart?

But gods, she was warm. She smelled like the jasmine oil I once bought her in Marrakech. Her hair still curled the same way near her temples. She was still the woman who held me when I was throwing up during the first trimester. Still the one who painted my toes when I couldn’t reach. Still the one who pressed her ear to my belly and whispered secrets to our daughter before Rebecca had a name.

And still the one who shattered me.

“Sorry, habibti… sorry, sorry…” she kept saying, her voice like silk unraveling.

Her breath hit the side of my neck. Her arms trembled around me. She didn’t dare lift her face to look at mine.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to see you look at me the way you’re looking at me now,” she said, barely audible. “Like I’m a stranger.”

Her words hit deeper than I expected.

Because the truth was… I didn’t know what she was to me in this moment. My wife? My mistake? My history?

Or the woman I still loved in spite of it all?

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

And I could hear Faisal’s quiet giggle from the living room. The soft coo of Rebecca as Kiyang whispered lullabies. My house. My children. My life.

The life we built.

And the one that felt like it was teetering on the edge of something I didn’t know how to name.

“Please, Rani…” she whispered again, arms squeezing tighter. “Please. I love you.”

And then, finally, without realizing it…

I felt my own hands move.

Not fully embracing her. Not yet.

But resting lightly on her back.

I felt it even before I saw it.

The slight shift in her breathing.
The soft graze of her palm brushing up and down my spine.
The way her nose nuzzled just beneath my jaw, barely there… almost reverent.

Then the first kiss.

Right on the hollow of my neck. Soft. Lingering.

I stiffened.

“Lamia…” I warned quietly, but she ignored it…
Or maybe she couldn’t hear it over her own heartbeat,
Or maybe she didn’t care.

Another kiss followed, higher now, just below my ear.
Her hands, once trembling in apology, were now sure, moving up the sides of my waist.
Pulling me closer. Feeling every inch she thought she’d just lost.

She whispered something, I couldn’t even make out the words and then her lips were on my cheek, then brushing my jaw, then slowly inching toward my mouth.

I turned my head slightly, but not fast enough.

Our lips touched.

And the kiss… God, tasted like desperation. Like fear. Like love that had been shaken and begged for mercy. Her mouth was warm, familiar, laced with regret and longing. Her fingers tilted my chin, eager, pleading, needing.

But…

“No,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to look at her.

She blinked, startled. Her lipstick was already beginning to smudge against mine. A faint line of blush had transferred from her cheek to mine. Her fingers paused against the back of my neck, waiting.

“Stop,” I said again, firmer this time. “Our makeup will ruin.”

She exhaled sharply. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” I said, stepping back, breath uneven. “Don’t touch me like that right now.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but then she saw my face.

Saw that I meant it.

I wasn’t a wife melting into her arms. I was a woman still standing at the edge of something broken, holding myself together with restraint.

“You don’t get to kiss your way out of this,” I added quietly.

Her eyes dropped to the floor. Her hands fell back to her sides. “I know.”

——

The day had finally settled into a deceptive kind of peace.

It was noon. The living room was quiet, save for the gentle, mechanical tick of the vintage clock on the wall and the distant rustle of leaves brushing against the windows from the trees outside. Sunlight poured in from the French doors, catching on the cream-colored tiles and the warm glints of the brass fixtures, giving the space a kind of soft elegance I usually found calming.

But right now, I wasn’t calm.

I was sitting on the far end of the couch, legs crossed under me, sipping from a cup of black tea I hadn’t even realized had gone cold. My back was straight, stiff even, though I kept my face neutral. Not cold. Not warm. Just…watching.

Lamia was just a few feet away from me, cradling Rebecca in her arms. Our daughter was wearing a tiny cream onesie that matched the plush blanket draped over Lamia’s lap. She looked peaceful, brows relaxed, tiny mouth slightly parted, the softest breath rising and falling in the curve of Lamia’s neck.

Lamia looked tired.

Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and her eyes were faintly shadowed from lack of sleep. But she kept smiling softly, whispering something sweet into Rebecca’s ear as she rocked her slowly.

And despite everything we had been through, everything I was still holding back… I couldn’t deny it. She looked…beautiful.

Then her phone buzzed.

A sharp vibration against the marble coffee table. The sound cut through the stillness like a needle dragged across silk.

I looked up from my tea without thinking.

And I saw it.

The screen was bright. The name flashed bold and unmistakable.

CENTER FOR CHRISTIAN RECOVERY

Everything inside me stilled.

My breath, my thoughts… everything just stopped.

She looked at it too.

Then, slowly, her eyes moved toward me.

Our gazes locked.

I didn’t say a word.

But I didn’t have to.

Because the moment she saw the flicker in my expression, the quiet shift of disappointment, the way my grip on the tea tightened slightly, she moved.

She reached for the phone and, without a single word, denied the call.

Just like that.

The screen went dark again, the buzzing stopped, and the silence returned, but it was no longer peaceful.

She didn’t meet my eyes this time.

She just looked down at Rebecca, brushing her thumb lightly against her cheek like that would make everything normal again.

But it wasn’t normal. And we both knew it.

I placed my tea down gently on the tray, not caring about the clink or the soft splash it made. My hands were steady, but my chest was beginning to ache with that familiar, bitter tightness.

I didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Because what I needed wasn’t an immediate explanation. I needed honesty. I needed her to offer it, not wait to be asked.

My eyes stayed on her. Not blinking. Not budging. Not giving her an inch to hide in.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t move. I didn’t even shift my posture. I just watched her the way someone watches a flickering flame, partly mesmerized, partly terrified of the burn.

Lamia was still pretending to focus on Rebecca, like the baby’s soft breathing could shield her from what I’d just seen. From what we both just saw. But I knew her too well. Knew the way her lips parted slightly when she was about to talk herself out of something. Knew the tension that crept up her shoulders when guilt was settling in. She wasn’t ignoring the moment. She was choosing silence and praying I would let it pass.

But I wouldn’t.

Not anymore.

She looked up again, hesitating, and then… finally, spoke.

“I forgot to block the number,” she said, her voice low, almost like a confession. “I should’ve. I meant to. I just… I guess I forgot.”

I let out a slow, sharp breath through my nose, shifting slightly on the couch. Not because I was forgiving her. But because that answer wasn’t enough.

She saw it. Saw my reaction. And like a fire being relit beneath her spine, she sat up straighter, Rebecca still secure in her arms, and rushed to follow it up.

“But I will,” she added, more firmly this time. “Right now. I’ll block it. I’ll make sure they can’t reach me again. I swear, Rani.”

I raised a brow.

Her eyes flicked to mine again.

“I didn’t answer,” she repeated like that counted for something. “I saw your face, and I didn’t answer.”

I stayed silent.

“Habibti…” Her voice softened, cracking at the edges. “I know what that looked like. But it’s nothing. It is nothing. I only got involved with Dove because she begged. Because she’s overwhelmed, and their mom is literally dying, and Dove didn’t know who else to turn to. And I thought… I don’t know, maybe I thought I was strong enough to help her from a distance.”

She paused. Sighed.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to open wounds. But I’m realizing now that staying silent is doing exactly that.”

Still, I said nothing.

Lamia shifted Rebecca gently, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead before whispering, “I’m going to talk to Dove.”

That made my brow twitch. Slight. Controlled. But she saw it.

She went on.

“I’ll tell her I can’t do this anymore. That my wife comes first. That you are more important than any guilt, any history, any sick relative. That I already chose. I chose you. I chose our family.”

My heart… thudded once, loud and stubborn inside my chest.

“I should’ve drawn that line the moment she called me,” Lamia whispered. “But I’ll draw it now. As clearly as you need. I promise.”

I shifted my gaze toward her phone, now sitting face-down on the coffee table. I could still feel the buzzing echo of that damn call in the room.

“And Dove?” I asked coldly.

She looked at me with full, unblinking eyes.

“I’ll tell her that my wife is not a suggestion,” she said, voice steel beneath the softness. “She’s the only thing that matters. And if Dove can’t respect that, then we have nothing left to talk about.”

I finally leaned back, arms crossing over my chest.

“I want proof,” I said. “I want to see the call blocked. I want to know Dove’s out. No lingering ties. No open doors. If you’re serious, Lamia, you close the chapter completely.”

“I will,” she nodded without hesitation. “You’ll see everything. I’m done with all of it.”

And for the first time in that whole quiet storm of a moment… I believed her. Not entirely. Not with my whole heart. But enough.

Enough to maybe keep listening.

But that didn’t mean I’d stop watching.

The front door opened without a knock.

Only one person ever did that.

“Rawid, tanggalin mo ‘yung sapatos mo d’yan! Huwag kang magkalat… Rani!”

Rabina’s voice bounced across the marble floor before I even turned to look. I knew that tone. That mix of playful accusation and secondhand exasperation. I didn’t need to look to know she had one hand on her hip and the other dragging our youngest sister behind her like luggage.

Lamia and I both glanced toward the foyer at the same time.

And there she was.

Rabina.

In leggings, oversized t-shirt, high ponytail. A canvas tote half-falling from her shoulder. And beside her, Rawid, our baby sister, looking equal parts annoyed and unbothered with her hair in messy space buns and her phone in one hand, thumbs tapping away like she hadn’t just been dragged into a domestic drama.

But Rabina froze the second she caught sight of us.

Of me sitting beside Lamia.

Of Lamia holding Rebecca gently against her chest like she hadn’t been on the verge of shattering our whole life hours ago.

Of the fact that I wasn’t yelling. Or crying. Or telling her to get the hell out.

She stared.

Then she blinked.

Then, with a tone so dry it could’ve cut glass, she muttered, “Sabi ko na nga ba. Marupok ka, Rani.”

I blinked. My mouth parted. “Excuse me?”

Lamia stiffened beside me, her arms subtly wrapping tighter around Rebecca, as if to protect her from the blast she knew was about to come.

But Rabina was already walking into the living room like it was just another Thursday.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, plopping down onto the single chair across from us like she owned the place. “I’m happy. Relieved, even. Less drama to clean up. But girl… one night. ONE. NIGHT. Of heartbreak playlist, iyak sa steering wheel with ‘I deserve better’ speeches…”

“Rabina…”

“…and now look at you,” she gestured vaguely between us. “Cuddled up, glowing cheeks, fresh from whatever rekindling just happened in this living room.”

“I’m still mad at her,” I said defensively, sitting up straighter.

“Mhmm,” she replied, unconvinced. “Sure. That’s why your highlighter’s back on and your lashes curled.”

I turned to Lamia.

She was smirking. The traitor.

Even Rebecca cooed like she was in on it.

“I swear to God,” I muttered under my breath, but it was already too late. Rabina was in full-ate mode now.

Rawid, now seated on the floor with one leg crossed and her iPad in front of her, finally pulled out one AirPod. “So… does this mean the sleepover’s canceled?”

“No,” I snapped. “You’re staying.”

Rabina raised a brow. “To give you two privacy, or because you’re trying to prove something?”

I looked at her. Deadpan. “Both.”

She burst out laughing, throwing her head back.

Lamia chuckled under her breath too, and Rebecca made a little hiccup sound that made her mother kiss the top of her head.

For a brief second, the room softened.

Like things might just be okay.

But then Rabina leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes a little more serious now.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, softer this time. “I just… I want to be sure you’re really okay. Not just… choosing peace over pain. You get me?”

I nodded slowly.

“I’m still thinking,” I said honestly. “Still watching. Still… waiting.”

Rabina smiled. “Good. That’s more like you.”

Then she stood, brushing imaginary lint off her leggings.

“Anyway, I brought cinnamon rolls. And Rawid wants to swim. So unless your dramatic reunion’s going to turn into a telenovela again, I’m making coffee.”

“Kitchen’s yours,” I muttered.

“Isn’t it always?” she grinned.

And just like that, Rabina, whirlwind of sarcasm and concern disappeared into the next room like she hadn’t just cracked my armor with one perfectly timed line.

——

By 6 p.m., the whole house had softened.

The sunset outside was melting across the sky like warm honey, bleeding into the windows and casting everything in gold and rose. Our house had this strange way of absorbing peace when there was no tension like it had been holding its breath too these past few days, and now it was exhaling with us.

We were all at the dining table.
No glam. No lashes. No pressed hair or glossed lips. Just the four of us… me, Lamia, Rabina, and Rawid in our fluffy bathrobes and bare faces, hair tied up in loose buns or towel-wrapped like we’d just come from the spa. Which, technically we had, Rabina insisted on giving all of us her “depression-cleansing facial steam” before dinner.

Even Lamia looked relaxed, Rebecca asleep in her little baby lounger beside us, a lullaby playing softly from someone’s phone.

Dinner was sinigang and grilled bangus, with hot rice in a bowl we kept passing around, and Rabina was already on her second plate like she hadn’t called me marupok three hours ago.

I scooped another spoon of soup into my bowl, leaned my elbow on the table, and turned to Rawid who was poking at the tomatoes on her plate.

“So,” I started, voice light. “How’s school?”

She didn’t look up immediately. She was twirling a piece of kangkong with her spoon like it was an enemy.

I raised an eyebrow.

Lamia glanced over at her, then at me. “That’s a dangerous question,” she murmured with a half-smile.

“No it’s not,” I said. “I’m asking about school, not her love life.”

Rabina snorted into her bangus.

“Excuse me,” Rawid finally said, flicking her gaze up with exaggerated offense. “Why are you all acting like I’m a delinquent? My grades are fine.”

“Define fine,” I asked, lips twitching.

She rolled her eyes. “Ninety is still passing.”

Rabina nearly choked.

“Rawid!” I gasped, dropping my spoon. “Ninety in what?!”

“Math,” she muttered under her breath.

“Math is your best subject,” Lamia said, scandalized. “You used to do calculus worksheets for fun.”

“I had COVID brain,” Rawid argued, dramatically grabbing a bowl of rice like it was her only defense. “I missed one quiz and then the teacher hated me forever.”

“Or maybe you stopped studying and got too busy being main character on TikTok,” Rabina said, deadpan.

“I only posted one thirst trap!” she protested.

“One too many,” I muttered.

Lamia was trying so hard not to laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly as she refilled my soup. “I think I liked it better when she was twelve and all she did was draw cats.”

“I still draw cats,” Rawid mumbled. “They’re just cooler now. They wear chains.”

“I rest my case,” Rabina said.

I shook my head but smiled. This was exactly what I needed… just this. Messy, loud, robe-wearing, honest. A night where Lamia and I could sit at one end of the table and still feel like a family. Where Rebecca could sleep within arm’s reach and no one had to pretend everything was perfect… because somehow, for once, it kind of was.

I reached across the table, flicked a grain of rice off Rawid’s cheek, and gave her a look.

“You better fix that ninety, little miss chains-and-cats. Or you’re not touching the pool tomorrow.”

She groaned. “You’re worse than Mom.”

“Thank you,” I said sweetly. “I take that as a compliment.”

And Lamia, beside me, chuckled under her breath and pressed her knee lightly against mine under the table, quiet, grounding, there.

I had just started slicing through the grilled bangus when Rawid, with her usual nonchalance, dropped a bomb like she was announcing what movie she wanted to watch.

“By the way,” she said, casually pushing her plate forward, “I might transfer to Australia next sem.”

I froze mid-cut, my fork still lodged in the belly of the fish.

Rabina, on the other hand, didn’t even look up. “Here we go.”

Lamia glanced at me, brows raising slightly, but stayed quiet.

I set my fork down slowly, turned to the teenager sitting across from me with a face mask still half-dried on her forehead, and said calmly, “I’m sorry. You might what?”

“Transfer,” Rawid repeated, like I was the one being slow. “To Australia. Melbourne.”

“Melbourne?” I echoed. “Australia? With the kangaroos and the time zone?”

She gave me a blank look. “Yes, Ate. That Melbourne.”

My eye twitched. “Okay, and when exactly were you planning to tell us this? After you booked the ticket? Or when you’re already boarding the flight?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Now?”

Rabina finally looked up, chewing slowly. “You are the drama.”

Lamia was trying not to laugh again. I could feel her body vibrating beside mine, traitorously amused.

“Rawid,” I said, exhaling through my nose. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me like your life depends on it.”

She straightened. “Okay.”

“If you transfer to Australia…” I leaned forward, my voice sharp and low, “where exactly will you study?”

Her lips twitched. “University of Melbourne.”

I blinked. “As in?”

“Yes, Ate,” she said, already defensive. “I passed. I applied months ago. I just… didn’t tell anyone yet.”

I blinked again.

“Oh my God,” Rabina whispered dramatically, wide-eyed. “She is leaving us.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “You applied? You passed? And you just didn’t tell us? Since when did you have this double life, huh? Who are you, Hannah Montana?”

“I was going to tell you guys,” Rawid said quickly. “But I wanted to be sure first. The modeling agency wanted me to move out there too. One of their branches is in Melbourne, and they said they’d help me get set up and booked.”

I stared at her, my heart now slowly catching up with my brain.

Modeling. School. Australia.

“Wait… modeling agency?” Lamia finally spoke, voice calm but curious. “Which agency?”

“Harper & Wynn,” Rawid answered. “They scouted me last year on Instagram. They’ve been watching my growth and want to invest long-term. They said I have international potential.”

I exhaled. “Wow.”

“And the best part?” she added, eyes glinting, “I found a penthouse. It’s near the campus. Really sleek. Full glass windows, 2-bedroom, minimalist vibes. I’m saving up for the down payment now.”

Rabina’s mouth fell open. “What the hell is happening?”

I just blinked at my youngest sister.

The same girl who used to wear sparkly unicorn pajamas and watch Hi-5 on loop was now out here planning her future, modeling deals, and shopping for penthouses like she wasn’t barely eighteen.

And I didn’t know whether to be proud or to faint.

“You seriously want to live alone?” I asked, still in disbelief.

“I won’t be alone. I mean, technically,” she smirked. “I’ll probably have some Aussie boyfriend in a few months.”

“No,” Lamia and I said at the same time.

“Okay, chill,” Rawid laughed. “I’m joking. Kind of.”

I sat back in my seat, rubbing my temple. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“You’re giving yourself a headache,” Rabina chimed in.

Lamia leaned closer to me, voice low. “At least she has a plan.”

“She has a penthouse plan,” I muttered.

“She’s ambitious,” Lamia smiled.

“She’s Rawid,” I said.

But even as I grumbled, I couldn’t deny the way my heart warmed just a little. Because beneath all the sass and attitude… she really was growing up. Finding her own path. And even if I wasn’t ready for it, I was proud.

God help me, I was proud.

——

The room was quiet.

Not the kind of silence that felt empty, but the kind that felt earned. Warm. Full of something unspoken.

Soft lamplight cast a mellow golden hue across the bedroom, catching the ivory sheets, the velvet curtains, and the gentle rhythm of the crib where Rebecca lay sound asleep, one tiny hand curled by her cheek. Across the room, on the massive couch, Faisal was curled up with his bear, his chest rising and falling slowly, legs tucked under the blanket Lamia had wrapped around him earlier.

And then there was us.

Lamia and me.

In bed.

Not quite asleep. Not quite ready to be.

Her hand was tracing slow circles over the silk of my robe, just above my hip, like she was trying to memorize me all over again. Her other hand was tucked under her chin, her eyes locked on mine, like I was the only thing in the room worth watching. And maybe to her, I was.

I could still feel the heat of her fingers even through the fabric. Every little graze left sparks behind, like my body still hadn’t forgotten what it was like to ache for her. Even after everything. Even after the days apart. The pain. The lies. The shouting.

God help me, I still craved her.

“I missed this,” Lamia murmured, her voice low and intimate. “Just you and me. Like this.”

I raised a brow, lips twitching. “Touchy and whispering in the dark?”

She smiled. “Exactly that.”

Her thumb brushed along the inside of my wrist, slow, deliberate.

I should’ve pulled away.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I let my fingers slip into her hair, gently tugging it out of the loose clip she always forgot to take off before bed. Her waves fell down her back, messy and soft. Like her. Like us. This version of us, anyway the one that only came out when the kids were asleep and the noise was gone.

“You smell like jasmine,” she whispered, leaning in just enough for her nose to brush my jaw.

“That’s literally the lotion Rawid forced on me after my bath,” I murmured, amused.

“Well then remind me to thank her.”

Her lips found the corner of my mouth. Not quite a kiss. More like a promise.

I sighed, pressing my forehead against hers. “If you ruin my robe and my lipstick, I’m going to hex you.”

“You already did,” she grinned. “Back when I married you.”

My eyes fluttered shut.

I hated how easy she made me melt sometimes. How her laugh could still twist something in my chest. How her fingers could still slide under my skin like a secret I kept too long.

Her palm slid over my thigh, over the knot of my robe, her mouth ghosting over my cheek now.

“Lamia,” I breathed, not even meaning to.

She paused, lifting her head.

“What?”

I opened my eyes.

“You’re lucky I love you,” I said, voice barely a whisper.

Her smile faded into something softer. Something real.

“I know.”

I leaned in and kissed her… slowly. Fully. The kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, but not forgetfulness. Like want. Like warning.

When I pulled back, her eyes were still closed.

“You’re not wearing lipstick,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“Then what was that warning for?”

I smirked, brushing her hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t for you.”

Her laugh was muffled by another kiss, this time pressed against my shoulder, then my collarbone. I held her tighter, legs tangling beneath the sheets. She was warm, and solid, and terrifyingly familiar.

Her fingertips were still resting just below my ribs, the warmth of her palm easing something in me I hadn’t even realized was still clenched.

My eyes were half-lidded, my head tucked into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. The air between us was slow and steady now, like our bodies had finally decided to rest, even if our hearts were still in motion.

Then I heard her voice, low and almost hesitant, like she’d been thinking it for a while.

“Let’s have a date tomorrow.”

I blinked.

Pulled back just enough to look at her face.

Her eyes were already waiting for mine, brown and certain and soft all at once. There was no teasing in her tone, no playful flirtation like usual. It was quiet. Intentional. Almost… shy.

“Tomorrow?” I repeated, brows lifting slightly. “As in?”

She nodded, her thumb brushing lightly against my side. “Yeah. Just you and me. A whole day. Please?”

I paused. Not because I didn’t want to. But because… we hadn’t done that in so long.

A real date. Outside the house. No diapers. No baby bags. No rushing back before Rebecca’s next bottle or Faisal’s meltdown. No heavy conversations about the past. Just… the two of us.

“Who’s watching the kids?” I asked, one brow rising, though my voice was gentler than I expected.

She smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting like she was relieved I hadn’t said no.

“Rawid and Rabina,” she answered. “They’re both here. Rabina’s off tomorrow, she never works Sundays, remember? And Rawid said she wants to prove she’s responsible before moving to another continent.”

I let out a small snort, burying it in her shoulder.

“That sounds like her,” I muttered.

“She’s already good with Rebecca,” Lamia added, shifting slightly so her leg slipped between mine. “And Faisal worships Rabina.”

“Faisal worships whoever gives him chocolate and lets him jump on couches.”

“Well then,” she grinned, “they’re perfect.”

I went quiet again, letting her words settle.

A whole day.

Just us.

It sounded so simple.

But it felt… massive.

Like a dare.

Or a step forward we hadn’t tried taking in months.

I looked at her again.

She was watching me carefully, like my silence might undo her. “Only if you want to,” she said quickly, her fingers slowing. “If you’re not ready, we don’t have to. I just thought…”

“I want to,” I cut in gently. “I do.”

She stilled.

“You do?”

“I just…” I took a breath, nodding slowly. “We’ve been through so much, Lamia. And I’m scared of pretending like one good day fixes it all. But I don’t want to keep punishing us either. Especially not if we’re trying.”

Her eyes softened instantly.

“I am,” she whispered. “I’m trying, habibti. Every second.”

I touched her face, just lightly. Brushed my thumb over her cheek where her skin was always warm.

“I know,” I said. “I see it.”

She kissed my palm, then pressed our foreheads together again.

“Then tomorrow, I’m taking you out,” she murmured, eyes closed like she was already imagining it. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere you’ll like. I’ll even wear that annoying linen shirt you once called ‘beach lesbian chic.'”

I laughed, quiet and helpless. “It is beach lesbian chic.”

“And you loved it,” she said, her grin smug.

“I tolerated it,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Lamia didn’t argue. She just kissed me again, and this time it was deeper, more grounded. Not desperate. Not apologetic.

Just… real.

I let myself kiss her back, fingers curled into the collar of her robe, the warmth of her chest pressed against mine.