Chapter 19

Rani’s Point Of View

The next morning, I dragged myself downstairs, the weight of last night’s conversation still pressing heavily on my chest. The quiet hum of the penthouse felt colder than usual, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

As I stepped into the dining area, my eyes caught the unmistakable sight… Lamia’s things, neatly arranged and unpacked, were back in the penthouse. Bags, shoes, clothes, like she had never left.

And there she was, sitting at the table, calm and composed, flanked by Babba and Mama. Their faces were a mix of stern concern and quiet resolve.

For a moment, I just stood there, heart hammering, trying to process the reality that no matter how much I wanted her gone, she was still here. Still fighting to stay.

I took a slow breath, the bitterness settling in deep. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

I stepped into the dining room, my heels clicking softly against the floor as I took in the scene before me. Lamia’s things were back, the sleek black handbag perched on the chair, a scarf casually draped over the backrest, and her faint scent still lingering in the air. My jaw tightened at the sight.

Lamia sat calmly between Babba and Mama, both looking serious but somehow resigned. Their eyes flicked toward me as I entered.

Clearing my throat, I forced a polite tone. “Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Babba.”

Mama nodded gently, her eyes kind but tired. Babba gave a curt nod in return.

“With your things this time, huh” I said.

Mama’s voice softened. “Rani, anak, this isn’t just about the two of you anymore. It’s about family. We can’t let bitterness destroy what remains.”

I let out a bitter laugh, unable to hide my frustration. “Family? This ‘family’ feels like a prison. I lost our child alone while she was busy with her past.”

Babba leaned forward, his tone grave but weary. “We all have faults, Rani. Lamia’s mistakes are clear, but this hatred is hurting Faisal. Think of him.”

Lamia’s eyes softened slightly. “I don’t want to lose you, Rani. Or Faisal. I’m not asking for love, but can’t we try… for him?”

I clenched my fists under the table, voice barely a whisper. “I want a divorce, Lamia. I’m done trying to salvage what was never real.”

Mama’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Please think about everyone, anak.”

I shook my head, tears pricking but refused to fall. “I’m tired of pretending. If family means this pain, maybe it’s time to let go.”

Lamia’s voice hardened. “I will never sign those papers. I’ll fight… for Faisal. You may hate me, but I won’t give up.”

Silence fell like a heavy fog. Babba sighed deeply.

I stared at Lamia, never loved, never will… but still my greatest burden.

“Fine,” I said coldly. “We’ll see how long you last.”

——

The moment I stepped into my office, the chaos hit me like a tidal wave. A mountain of paperwork, contracts, financial reports, emails, all screaming for my attention, sprawled across my desk like a relentless storm I couldn’t escape. My chest tightened. This was my world, my battlefield, but today it felt more like a cage.

I sank into my leather chair, fingers already moving mechanically, sorting, reviewing, trying to drown out the mess inside my head with the order on my desk. Every file was a reminder that life went on, even when mine felt like it was falling apart.

Then the door opened quietly. Elise appeared, holding a bouquet wrapped in sleek black paper. My eyes caught the emblem on the card, Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures. Lamia’s company. My stomach twisted. No matter how much I wanted to ignore it, she was still there, still reaching out in some way I wasn’t ready to accept.

Without looking up, I said coldly, “Thank you, Elise. Just put it over there.”

She nodded, careful not to meet my gaze, and placed the flowers on a small table in the corner. The scent of fresh blooms filled the air, too pure, too innocent, like a bitter reminder of all the pain tangled between us.

I turned back to my work, pushing everything else away. No matter how much the past clawed at me, I had to focus. This was my life to control now. No distractions. No regrets. Just the cold, hard fight ahead.

My fingers slowed, the endless shuffling of papers suddenly feeling heavier, as if the weight of the day was finally catching up to me. I pushed the files aside and stood up, stretching the stiffness from my shoulders. My eyes drifted to the bouquet in the corner, the one Elise had just placed there. The glossy black wrapping caught the light, almost daring me to notice it.

Drawn by some stubborn flicker of curiosity, I walked over and picked up the small card attached. My fingers trembled slightly as I peeled it free, heart pounding in a way I wasn’t prepared for. The neat handwriting stared back at me… Lamia’s.

I swallowed hard, reading the words slowly, each sentence slicing through the armor I’d been building around myself.

No matter how hard things get between us, I will never give up on you. For Faisal’s sake, for the family we built, even if we’re broken, I believe we can heal. I want to keep trying, keep fighting. You’re not alone.

—Lamia

I closed my eyes briefly, the sting of old wounds raw and fresh all over again. It was a plea, a surrender, and maybe even a promise wrapped in those few fragile lines.

But the war between us wasn’t over… not by a long shot. Still, standing there with that card in my hand, I felt the cold, sharp edges of my heart soften just a little.

Just enough to wonder if maybe, against all odds, there was still a chance.

——

The office finally fell silent as the clock struck late evening. I pushed back my chair, the ache in my fingers a dull throb from hours of typing and signing endless paperwork. The weight of the day clung to me like a second skin as I gathered my things. With a sigh, I locked up the office and headed home.

The penthouse felt emptier than usual as I stepped inside. The soft hum of the city below contrasted sharply with the quiet around me. Lamia wasn’t here. Probably still at her company, I thought, a familiar pang tightening in my chest. It was easier to face the solitude when I told myself she was just busy, wrapped in work, trying to make things right.

I let out a breath and headed toward the living room, my footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor. The space felt colder without her presence, but maybe that was exactly how I needed it tonight. Alone with my thoughts and the echo of a promise I wasn’t sure I believed anymore.

I walked quietly to Faisal’s room, heels left by the door, feet sinking into the soft carpet with every step. The moment I opened the door, the dim glow of his nightlight washed over me, casting gentle shadows on the pastel walls. There he was, my little boy, fast asleep, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in soft rhythm.

I sank slowly onto the edge of his crib, brushing my fingers against the fine strands of his baby hair. A lump caught in my throat. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the storm that surrounded him.

“Hi, baby…” I whispered, my voice cracking as I leaned closer. “Mommy’s home.”

Faisal stirred just a little, letting out a sleepy hum. I smiled faintly, reaching down to gently adjust the blanket over his tiny body.

“I know it’s not fair,” I murmured, “this chaos. You didn’t ask for any of it. But you’re the only reason I’m still standing.”

My fingers traced light circles over the crib rail as I watched him. “Your other mommy… she’s trying now, you know. She sent me flowers. Keeps saying she won’t give up. That she’s doing it for you. And maybe she means it. Maybe she doesn’t.”

I paused, blinking away the sting in my eyes. “But me? I’d burn the whole world just to keep you safe. And I’m sorry, Faisal, if I’m not making all the right choices. I’m just trying to make sure you grow up with love. Not pain.”

Faisal shifted slightly, a little sigh escaping his lips.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead gently, resting mine against his for a moment.

“I love you,” I whispered. “Always. No matter what happens between me and Lamia. You come first.”

And in that small moment, with the world outside still spinning in its usual madness, I felt something still, not peace, not resolution… but purpose. Something I could hold onto.

——

Dinner was quiet… too quiet.

I sat alone at the long marble dining table, the clinking of silver against porcelain the only sound in the penthouse. Nina had already fed Faisal and taken him to his room, and the house was beginning to fall into its usual evening hush. The food on my plate was untouched. My appetite had disappeared somewhere between my second breakdown of the week and the exhausting hours buried under paperwork.

Then the door opened.

My fork paused mid-air. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

The unmistakable click of Lamia’s heels echoed through the foyer, measured, proud, as if she didn’t just shatter me weeks ago. And yet, behind that confidence, I could hear something else. Hesitation. The weight of someone walking into a room they no longer had permission to own.

I didn’t lift my head.

“Good evening,” she said. Her voice, too casual, too calm.

Still, I didn’t look at her.

Then I heard it, the gentle rustle of paper and stems. Flowers. Again.

She came to my side and stopped just a step away. I could smell the scent before she even offered it, fresh lilies and something expensive. She placed the bouquet gently beside my plate, her fingers brushing the edge of the table.

“For you,” she said, soft but steady.

I finally looked up at her. My face unreadable. Tired. Her eyes searched mine.

“You know,” I murmured coldly, “you could’ve just brought food. Or peace. Or honesty. But flowers are easier, aren’t they?”

Lamia didn’t flinch. Of course not. She never did.

“They’re not an apology,” she said, placing both hands flat on the table. “They’re a reminder.”

I arched a brow. “Of?”

“I’m not giving up on you,” she said simply. “And not because I suddenly love you, or you love me. We both know that was never part of the deal. But we built something together. We have Faisal. And I’m not going to let this… fall apart without trying.”

I let out a low, bitter laugh, pushing the bouquet aside. “You should’ve tried before I lost the baby. You should’ve tried before I begged you to come home and you chose him.”

She didn’t answer right away. The silence cracked between us like glass.

Finally, she said, “I was a coward. I ran from what scared me. But I’m not running anymore.”

I leaned back in my chair, arms folded tightly across my chest. “Good for you. But I’m not interested in playing house with someone who needs a baby’s death to realize I existed.”

Her jaw clenched. Just barely. But I saw it.

Still, she didn’t raise her voice. “You can hate me all you want, Rani. But I’ll keep coming back. Every night. With flowers, with words, with whatever it takes. Because Faisal deserves parents who don’t give up.”

I didn’t answer. Not right away.

I just stared at the bouquet again, the petals soft, beautiful, and utterly meaningless.

And somehow, that hurt even more.

The clinking of cutlery against ceramic echoed faintly in the otherwise quiet dining room. The penthouse lights cast a warm glow on the table, bathing everything in a golden hue that felt too soft for the tension lingering in the air.

I didn’t touch the flowers she brought. They sat on the corner of the table, vibrant and perfumed, a contrast to the cold lump of food on my plate. Lamia had taken the seat across from me, like she belonged there. Like nothing had happened.

“So,” she said after a few bites, cutting into her salmon like we weren’t in the middle of a cold war, “you’re back at work full-time now?”

I didn’t bother looking up. I sipped my water, chewed slowly, and answered flatly, “Yes.”

She nodded, stabbing a piece of asparagus. “You looked tired last night, and drunk.”

“I am tired,” I said, setting my fork down with a soft clink. “Tired of people asking about my life like they still have a say in it.”

Lamia’s eyes lifted to mine. Steady. “I’m not trying to control your life, Rani. I just want to be part of it again. With Faisal.”

“Then be a mother to Faisal,” I replied, voice sharper than I intended. “No one’s stopping you from doing that. But you don’t get to come here, drop off flowers, and act like you’re my wife again.”

Her fork froze mid-air. “But I am your wife.”

“For now,” I said, dabbing my lips with a napkin. “Until the papers are signed.”

Lamia set her utensils down. “You think it’s that simple?”

“Yes. Because it is,” I snapped. “You think I’m still that girl who’d overthinks just because you didn’t come home? No, Lamia. I buried her with our child.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Lamia said carefully, “You think I don’t grieve, too?”

I scoffed, “You grieve convenience. You grieve control. But don’t pretend you grieve the same child you didn’t even know about.”

Her lips pressed into a line, but her voice remained even. “That’s fair. I deserved that. But Rani, I’m sitting here because I want to fix it. Not because I think I deserve forgiveness. I want us to try again… for Faisal. For a home that doesn’t confuse him with silence and hate.”

I leaned forward slightly, eyes locking on hers like a threat. “You think I want my son to grow up watching his parents pretending they don’t hate each other? Watching a woman who humiliated his mother and destroyed her sanity, eat at the same table every night like nothing happened?”

Lamia blinked once. Slowly. But her voice didn’t waver. “No. I think you want him to grow up with both parents trying. And I’m trying, Rani. I am.”

I stared at her, chest rising and falling with the fury I was too exhausted to explode with.

“You’re trying now,” I said, quieter. “After everything.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “It’s late. But not too late.”

I picked up my fork again, not because I wanted to eat, but because I couldn’t take her looking at me like that, like we were still salvageable.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I muttered, stabbing my food. “Maybe the flowers will start blooming where they should’ve been watered from the start.”

Lamia didn’t answer. She just picked up her wine glass, took a sip, and watched me from across the table.

And so we ate. In silence. In war. In something that almost resembled marriage… but never quite did.

——

The soft click of the nursery door opening made my ears twitch, even as I pretended to stay focused on my skincare routine at my vanity. My fingers moved slowly over my cheekbones, massaging serum into my tired skin. In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of Lamia stepping into our bedroom, our cursed, shared space, with Faisal cradled in her arms.

She walked like nothing was broken. Like we weren’t a mess stitched together only by the helpless coos of the baby between us.

Faisal stirred lightly in her arms, his tiny hand grasping at her blouse as if trying to remind her he was still there, still needing both of us despite how ruined we were.

“I thought he might sleep better here,” Lamia said, her voice even, like she rehearsed it. She didn’t look at me, just gently walked to the crib we kept at the corner of the room, the one we once both stood over every night together, too exhausted to argue.

I didn’t answer. I dabbed cream under my eyes and kept my silence louder than any fight we’d had.

“He misses you,” she added after placing him down. Her eyes lingered on Faisal for a second longer before she straightened her back, turning toward me. “We both do.”

That made me scoff under my breath. “Don’t lump your feelings with his. One of you has pure intentions.”

She walked slowly to her side of the bed, not arguing. Not rising to my bait.

Of course she wouldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight she was playing the quiet role, the woman willing to fix things. The mother. The martyr. The Lamia who showed up late but wanted credit for trying.

“Do you want me to sleep in the other room?” she asked, voice low.

I paused, eyes narrowing in the mirror. “Isn’t that where you belong?”

She didn’t move. She just looked at me. “I belong where my family is.”

That made my stomach twist. Not because I believed her, but because deep down, I wanted to. I wanted to believe the version of us that never existed. The one our parents fantasized. The one Faisal deserved.

I turned off the vanity light. “Do what you want.”

Without another word, I slid under the covers, back facing her, heart aching with every second that passed and every breath she took in the room I used to claim as mine alone.

A few moments later, the bed shifted. Lamia had slipped in, quiet, careful.

Faisal made a little sound in his sleep. I didn’t turn. I didn’t move. I just stared at the wall, eyes wide open.

She didn’t touch me. Not even once.

And yet, the weight of her on that bed felt heavier than ever.