Chapter 25

Rani’s Point Of View

8:02 AM, Penthouse Bedroom

The sunlight was already leaking through the gauzy white curtains when I opened my eyes. I blinked, still half-asleep, then jolted upright the moment I realized what time it was.

“Shit.”

Eight in the damn morning. I never wake up this late. Ever.

I immediately reached out to the other side of the bed… empty. Her side was cold. The sheets, perfectly folded. Not even a scent of her shampoo lingering on the pillows. Lamia was gone.

Of course she was.

I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand and reaching for my phone with the other. No texts from her. No missed calls. No sticky notes with dumb doodles and “Don’t skip breakfast” written in her annoying handwriting. Nothing.

Maybe she’s already in her company. Probably closing another million-dollar deal like it’s just another Tuesday. Probably drinking her second cup of black coffee while making the entire oil industry bend to her will. Probably acting like she didn’t just spend the last two nights burning with fever in my arms like a fragile glass I had to hold together.

I sighed and dragged myself to the edge of the bed. My silk robe slid down my arms as I stood, the cold marble floor kissing the soles of my feet.

She didn’t even wake me up. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or touched. Or both. That woman has a way of disappearing just when I’m starting to…

No. Stop.

I shook the thought out of my head. No time for sentimentality. No time to wonder if she left the bed early because she didn’t want to look at me. Or maybe because she had a full calendar. Or maybe because she knew I needed the sleep.

Maybe. Always maybe.

I padded toward the bathroom, muttering, “Well, guess it’s just me and chaos today.”

Because despite everything, life doesn’t stop just because Lamia Al-Gaddafi isn’t beside me when I open my eyes. And I won’t let a stupid flutter in my chest throw me off course.

Not now.
Not today.
Not ever.

Time to get dressed. Time to run the empire. Time to pretend nothing has changed… even if everything has.

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, the entire space was thick with steam and the sharp, clean scent of my citrus body wash. My hair, still damp, was wrapped in a silk towel. I walked into the bedroom with my usual grace, even if it was nearly 9 in the morning and I was already behind my usual schedule.

I moved like nothing was wrong. Like I hadn’t overslept. Like I hadn’t spent the last few minutes wondering why the hell my wife… my technically still wife, didn’t bother waking me up after the way I nursed her all day when she was sick.

I went straight to my vanity, dropping onto the cushioned stool like I owned the world… which, quite frankly, I did. I stared at myself in the mirror and forced that familiar face to return. Chin up. Expression composed. Lips like a threat. I let my hand glide through my hair, blow-drying it with precision, curling the ends just right, not one strand out of place.

Then came the makeup. Contour sharp enough to cut someone. Brows lifted just enough to remind people I didn’t come to play. Red lipstick, not just because it matched my heels, but because it made people hesitate before speaking nonsense.

I chose a fitted beige power dress that hugged my figure like second skin, cinched at the waist with a gold-buckled belt. Diamond studs on my ears, my usual gold watch. The look screamed, “Don’t mess with me unless you want to cry before lunch.”

As I slipped on my heels and grabbed my handbag, I did a final glance in the mirror. “Showtime,” I muttered to myself, exhaling deeply.

I made my way down the hallway, the penthouse oddly silent. Everyone was probably already doing their duties, Nina with Faisal, Manang Sally somewhere managing the morning chaos. Anna probably on her way going back to her province. No Lamia in sight.

Of course not.

I descended the marble stairs, each click of my heel echoing like a rhythmic reminder of who I was. I didn’t rush. Divas don’t rush. Divas arrive.

The scent of garlic rice, eggs, and something buttery greeted me the moment I stepped into the dining area. It was warm, polished, and well-lit, everything the morning should be.

“Good morning, Ma’am Rani,” Manang Sally called from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. She offered me a soft smile. “Naka handa na po ang almusal niyo. Nagdagdag po ako ng tocino, paborito niyo.”

I gave her a nod, sliding onto my usual seat at the head of the table. “Thanks, Manang. Did Lamia eat?”

“Maaga po siyang umalis” she said, placing a plate of food in front of me. “Bago mag ala sais. Sabi niya huwag ko raw po kayong gisingin, pagod kayo.”

My brows arched, fork already in hand. “Huh,” I muttered before I took a bite.

The food was perfect, as always, crispy edges on the eggs, rice fried just the way I liked it, tocino glazed and tender. Still, something about the silence around the table felt heavier than usual. Or maybe it was just me.

I glanced at the empty spot beside me. Her usual spot. Still untouched, the napkin perfectly folded.

“Tired,” I whispered to myself, chewing slowly. “So she let me sleep.”

I don’t know what annoyed me more, that she didn’t wake me or that she thought I needed rest. I’m Rani Hidalgo. I don’t need rest. I need results.

Still, I cleaned off my plate because divas never skip breakfast, even when their stomachs are swirling with feelings they won’t name.

And with one last sip of coffee, I stood, collected my things, and readied myself for another day of ruling my empire, ignoring the ache in my chest, the echo of an empty seat, and the lingering scent of orchids she left in our room.

After breakfast, I made my way down the hall, heels muted by the expensive runner that lined the polished hardwood floor. The morning light spilled through the large windows, bathing the hallway in a soft golden hue. My handbag was slung effortlessly over my arm, my phone already vibrating with emails, but before anything else, I needed one more stop.

I turned the brass handle to Faisal’s nursery and gently pushed the door open. The moment I stepped in, my face softened. The sight of him always did that.

There he was, my little prince, my reason. Faisal was on the floor mat, surrounded by plush toys, trying to gnaw on a rubber giraffe. Nina was sitting nearby, flipping through a children’s book, but she smiled and stood as soon as she saw me.

“Good morning, Ma’am Rani,” she greeted softly, picking Faisal up and gently cradling him. “Kanina pa po siya gising, ngiti ng ngiti ang pogi kong alaga.”

“Of course he is,” I said with a small smirk, walking closer in my heels, careful not to startle him. “He’s his mother’s son.”

Nina chuckled. “Gusto niyo po ba siyang buhatin?”

I didn’t even answer… I just reached out. Faisal instantly reached for me with both chubby hands, his fingers grasping at my dress like he knew I was about to disappear for the day.

“Hey, baby,” I whispered as I brought him close, kissing the side of his warm, soft cheek. His scent, baby lotion and milk, calmed something in me I didn’t even know was tight. “Mama’s going to work now, alright? You be good for Nina.”

He didn’t speak, he was only eleven months old, but he gurgled something and nuzzled into the crook of my neck. And that? That was enough to almost break me.

I kissed his forehead, soft and lingering. “I’ll be back before dinner. I promise.”

Nina gently took him back into her arms. I fixed a strand of hair behind his ear, then turned toward the door. My stilettos clicked again, sharp against the hallway tiles, but the sound wasn’t as confident as usual.

Because walking away from him? No matter how powerful I looked outside, this was the only part that made me feel small.

But I was Rani Hidalgo. I had an empire to run.

And I’d be damned if my son didn’t grow up watching his mother conquer the world in heels.

——

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the sleek marble reception of the executive floor. I walked out with my usual poise, hair blown out, eyes cat-lined to perfection, lips painted in a mauve that screamed I run this world. My heels echoed in crisp rhythm across the floor as my assistant Elise scurried beside me, reciting my schedule with military precision.

“Board meeting at eleven po. Lunch delivery at your desk. Conference call with the Seoul office at two. And… oh… someone sent flowers again, Ma’am.”

I raised an eyebrow without even looking at her, my stride never slowing. “Let me guess. Orchids?”

She gave me a knowing look. “White. Fresh. Arrived not ten minutes ago.”

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath as I pushed open the glass doors to my corner office.

And there it was.

A pristine bouquet of white orchids, elegantly arranged in a minimalist matte black vase, sat right in the center of my massive desk. Their petals were flawless, gleaming against the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. There was no note this time.

I dropped my handbag into the leather chair beside mine, pulling off my sunglasses with a sigh. Elise was still standing at the door, waiting for my reaction.

“I’m not saying they’re not beautiful,” I said as I rounded my desk. “But if she thinks orchids will make me forget every disaster she’s caused…” I stopped mid-sentence, reaching out to lightly touch one of the petals. It was soft. Cool. Freshly misted.

“Still…” I whispered, more to myself than to Elise. “She really doesn’t miss a day.”

Elise cleared her throat gently. “Should I… uh… dispose them?”

I sat down slowly in my chair and looked at the bouquet for another beat. My eyes lingered on the curve of the stems, the delicacy of each bloom.

“No,” I said firmly, leaning back in my seat with a sigh as I opened my laptop. “Leave them.”

I didn’t need Elise to ask why. I could already hear her thoughts.

Because despite everything… Lamia still knew my favorite flower.

Because today… like every day lately, she was trying.

And for now, that was enough to keep the orchids right where they were.

——

The double oak doors swung shut with a muted thud, sealing the room in hushed reverence and tension only money could create. I walked in with my tablet tucked against my chest and the faintest scent of Maison Francis Kurkdjian trailing behind me. Twelve executives, all seasoned, all brilliant, stood up the moment I stepped in. I didn’t need them to, but they did. Protocol. Respect. Power.

“Good morning,” I greeted with a composed smile, my heels clicking with each confident step as I made my way to the head of the table. My seat, of course, was at the far end, elevated slightly, wrapped in Italian leather, like a throne carved for a woman who built empires before breakfast.

“Let’s get started,” I said, as I opened my digital files and adjusted the mic in front of me. “We’ve got a full agenda today.”

Hector, my CFO, began with quarterly earnings. The screen behind him lit up with projections, spreadsheets, revenue targets that danced on charts and graphs. I listened, nodding occasionally, tapping notes.

“Our luxury line under Hidalgo Signature performed 14% above target in Q2,” Hector said, adjusting his glasses. “Thanks to our campaigns in Europe, specifically the collaboration in Milan.”

I nodded slowly. “Keep that creative agency. Extend their contract to Q4,” I instructed, voice crisp. “And schedule a call with our Italian PR liaison next week. I want stronger traction in Paris and Berlin.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Minutes passed. Marketing reviewed social media reach, legal updated us on pending contracts in Southeast Asia, and logistics raised minor concerns about port congestion affecting shipment timelines from Cebu. I listened, dissected, advised. My mind was sharp today. No distractions, not even the orchids from Lamia sitting silently in my office like a whisper I refused to hear just yet.

Then came the big item: the expansion into the real estate division, my personal project. A new luxury resort and residence compound in Tagaytay.

“As of today,” I said, rising to my feet and gesturing for my assistant to pass around the proposal packets, “we’ve secured the final architectural revisions and investor greenlights. Construction begins in six weeks. I’ll be personally overseeing the site progress bi-weekly.”

The room buzzed softly with excitement. This was the project everyone had eyes on. My late grandfather dreamed of Hidalgo & Co. building not just fashion, but futures. This resort, clean, sustainable, opulent… was my tribute.

“And let’s be clear,” I added, walking around the table slowly. “This isn’t just luxury for the sake of luxury. This is legacy. Every tile, every fabric, every scent down to the diffuser oil in the rooms, must reflect what our brand means, refined success, resilience, and excellence.”

Hector chuckled. “So… no lavender oils from Divisoria?”

The room laughed. I smirked but didn’t miss a beat. “Only if it’s been infused with gold.”

By the time the meeting drew to a close, nearly two hours had passed. My stylus was nearly worn out. I’d approved three international strategies, signed off on new hires in the Paris office, and annihilated a half-baked PR proposal from a team that clearly didn’t understand the difference between ‘luxury’ and ‘overpriced mediocrity.’

I sat down again, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and finally exhaled.

“Good work,” I said. “Now go do better.”

Chairs scraped as the board members stood and filed out, murmuring thanks. I sat there for another minute, tapping my fingernails on the polished wood. My phone buzzed beside me. A text. Saying the orchids are still fresh. Just thought I should know.

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I stood up, smoothed the front of my dress, and walked out of the boardroom like I’d just finished conquering the world. Again.

I stepped back into my office, the door closing behind me with a soft click, muting the chaos of the outside world. The sunlight was harsh behind the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over the marble floors and glass décor. My assistant Elise was nowhere in sight, probably at lunch, and for a moment, there was silence. Just me, the low hum of the city below, and the scent of orchids.

I looked toward my desk. There it was again. Another immaculate arrangement of white orchids, elegant, pristine, fragrant. Always orchids. Always Lamia.

The bouquet sat in a tall, minimalist glass vase, so tall it almost framed the edge of my monitor. The petals were fresh, dewy, as if they had just bloomed. There was a card tucked in the middle, angled so I couldn’t read it from where I stood. I didn’t bother. I walked past it, circling my desk and sinking into my velvet chair. I crossed one leg over the other, removed my heels under the table, and leaned back.

The meetings were done. The empire was intact. And yet, there was this tightness in my chest I couldn’t name.

I picked up my coffee, lukewarm now and took a sip. Bitter. I made a mental note to ask Elise to find a new supplier for the beans. Maybe something richer, darker, something that didn’t taste like obligations and burned-out patience.

My eyes flicked to the orchids again.

What is she trying to prove?

It wasn’t like before. Before, when we were just bitter roommates forced into a marriage. Before I lost the baby. Before I found out about Peterson. Before everything burned, and then slowly tried to stitch itself back together.

Lamia was trying now. I knew that. I saw it in the dinners, in her tired eyes, in the way she made Faisal laugh even when she was sick. I felt it in the silences she didn’t fill with sarcasm anymore. She was changing. But I also knew better than to let my heart soften just because someone was trying.

I opened my inbox. Dozens of emails. Contracts. Design drafts. Updates from the Laguna site. Messages from my mother, from clients, from Elise. I clicked through them one by one, focused, mechanical, fast. My fingers danced on the keys. Command. Delete. Reply. Archive.

Half an hour passed before a soft knock came from the door.

“Come in,” I called without looking.

The door creaked open and Elise stepped in. But behind her, flamboyant, fabulous, and loud as ever… was Kristof.

“Darling!” Kristof said dramatically, stepping in with his designer shades still perched on his nose. “Tell me you’re not too busy for me.”

I blinked. “I’m always too busy, but that never stops you.”

He clutched his chest, pretending to be wounded. “Rani Hidalgo! Queen of capitalism! Goddess of savage comebacks!”

Elise stifled a laugh. “Should I bring coffee for both of you?”

“Make mine with oat milk and love,” Kristof called, sliding into the armchair in front of my desk as Elise slipped out. “And you…” he pointed at me. “…look exhausted. What’s going on?”

“I just finished a board meeting. We’re greenlighting the Tagaytay project,” I said, resting my chin on my hand. “I should be thrilled.”

“But you’re not,” Kristof said, already reading between the lines. “What’s wrong? Is it… her?”

I didn’t answer. I just reached for the orchid bouquet and slowly turned the card to face me.

Kristof leaned forward like a nosy auntie. “Another one?”

I sighed and opened the envelope.

Hi, Rani. I know I’m the last person who deserves your kindness, but I’ll keep trying anyway.
For Faisal. For you.

—Lamia.

My chest tightened again.

Kristof read it too and leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Well, damn. If my ex sent me notes like that, I’d probably give in.”

“She’s not my ex,” I said automatically.

Kristof arched an eyebrow. “Then what is she? Because the last time I checked, married people don’t live like strangers in couture.”

I looked away. Out the window. At the skyline I helped build. “She’s… trying.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said gently, “You’re allowed to heal too, you know. It doesn’t make you weak.”

I scoffed. “You think this is about being weak?”

“I think,” he said carefully, “it’s about being afraid. You don’t want to let her back in and get hurt again.”

I said nothing. Because he was right.

“She stood out in the rain for you,” Kristof added. “I heard about that from Elise.”

“She was soaked. Had bags in her hands like she was going to surprise me,” I murmured, placing the card back on my desk. “Kiyang said she waited from 1 to 6PM.”

Kristof gave me a look. “That’s… romance, babe. The wet, desperate kind that gets turned into Oscar-winning films.”

I smiled despite myself. “Don’t romanticize it. She gave me pneumonia by proxy.”

He chuckled. “So? Did you take care of her?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. I stayed. Cancelled my whole schedule. I… couldn’t leave her like that.”

He leaned forward, tone soft now. “Then maybe… you haven’t left her at all.”

I glanced up at him, my jaw tightening. I wasn’t ready to unpack that thought. Not now. Maybe not ever. So instead, I stood up, smoothing down my ivory silk blouse.

“Elise,” I called toward the intercom. “Block my calendar for lunch. I need air.”

Kristof stood up with me, grinning. “And who gets the honor of breathing beside you, queen?”

“You do,” I said, grabbing my purse. “And you’re paying.”

He laughed, following me out the door. “As always, Rani Hidalgo. As always.”

And for the first time in days, I felt a little lighter. Not because anything was fixed, but because I wasn’t carrying it all alone anymore.

——

1:20 PM. Somewhere in Uptown BGC, tucked inside a quiet, minimalist brunch place Kristof insisted had the best risotto in Manila.

The glass ceiling above us trembled lightly under the pressure of rain, a soft drizzle that barely interrupted the rhythm of the city. I stirred my iced Americano absently with the thin black straw, watching the swirl of coffee and melting cubes with a gaze that wasn’t really focused.

Across from me, Kristof tapped his polished nails on the marble table, his Gucci rings clicking against the surface. He was watching me closely, the way he always did when he knew something inside me was slowly unraveling.

“You know what I hate?” he finally said.

“I could write a book,” I replied dryly.

Kristof rolled his eyes. “I hate when you pretend like your world isn’t imploding but your eyes are screaming, ‘save me.’ You’re exhausted, Rani.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sipping my coffee like it would wash the lie down.

Kristof leaned forward. “You’re not. And you haven’t been since… everything happened.”

I didn’t answer. I let silence settle between us, and the rain picked up above, louder now. A part of me hoped it would drown this conversation out.

But Kristof didn’t let go. “You lost a baby, Rani. You nearly lost yourself. And now, here you are, acting like you can’t feel anything again.”

“I’m still married, Kris,” I said finally, my voice low. “Despite everything. Despite the disaster we both know it started as. Lamia’s still my wife.”

“And?” Kristof asked.

“And… she wasn’t there when I needed her,” I said tightly. “When Peterson pushed me, when I bled out on that marble floor… she wasn’t there.”

Kristof blinked slowly, his expression softening. “I know.”

“She was kissing him a few weeks before,” I continued, bitterness rising like acid in my throat. “And now suddenly I’m getting orchids and good treatments and whispered apologies like it’ll just patch up what was broken.”

“She’s trying,” Kristof said quietly. “She didn’t have to stand in the rain for many hours, Rani. She didn’t have to look after Faisal every time you worked late or get sick just to be near you.”

“I didn’t ask her to,” I snapped, a little louder than I meant.

The couple at the next table paused their conversation. I lowered my voice. “I didn’t ask her to. She’s doing it now because she realized she lost control. She wants me back, but I’m not something you fight for like a trophy.”

Kristof stirred his risotto. “You really think that’s what this is?”

I hesitated.

No. A part of me didn’t. A part of me knew Lamia wasn’t fighting to win. She was fighting because she was changing. And that terrified me.

“Let me tell you something,” Kristof said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, leaning in. “You’ve been fighting everyone else for so long you forgot how to be held. Lamia? She’s not perfect. She’s screwed up, maybe worse than anyone should’ve. But she’s still standing there. Every single day.”

“She’s the reason I got hurt,” I murmured.

“She’s also the reason you’re not hurting alone anymore,” he countered.

My eyes stung a little, and I hated it. I hated how Kristof always knew what to say, how he knew what I was scared to admit. That the flowers meant something. That the quiet glances in the kitchen. That kiss on my forehead. That her presence in my bed again, even if she wasn’t touching me.

She was still there.

I looked away. “I don’t want her to think it’s okay.”

“No one said it is,” Kristof replied gently. “But healing doesn’t mean forgiving all at once. It just means letting yourself feel again. Even if it’s complicated. Even if it hurts.”

I didn’t answer. I just looked at my untouched pasta.

Kristof reached across the table and touched my hand. “And you do still feel, Rani. Anyone can see it.”

I bit my lip. “I can’t love someone who makes me scared of losing again.”

Kristof’s voice was firm now. “Then tell her. Let her earn her way back. Let her fight for your trust, not just your heart.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m not ready.”

He smiled. “Then don’t be. But don’t shut the door before you’re sure it needs to be closed.”

We sat in silence for a moment, just the rain tapping above us and the low hum of music in the restaurant.

Then Kristof asked, “So, what are you going to do when you get home?”

I sighed. “Work. Bathe. Kiss my son goodnight. Probably ignore another bouquet.”

Kristof laughed. “You’re a diva, Rani Hidalgo. But you’re also the softest heart I know.”

“Don’t ruin my reputation.”

We both smiled. And for a moment, the weight lifted just enough to breathe again.

⸻

8:30 PM

By the time I got home, the sky had cleared. Manila looked golden from the building’s rooftop, the horizon soft and melted, like the world was giving me a second chance.

Faisal was babbling in Nina’s arms when I stepped through the door. His tiny hands reached for me, and I kissed his forehead, burying my face in his baby powder–scented curls.

And when I walked past the foyer, there they were again.

Orchids.

Another set. This time, beside the couch. Pale purple and white, elegant and soft, like a whisper of peace in the middle of the chaos.

There was no card this time.

Just the silence.

And I couldn’t decide if it made my heart ache or flutter.

The orchids were still in my hands.

I hadn’t let them go, even after changing into my silk robe and tucking Faisal into his crib for the night. I’d traced the veins of each petal with the pads of my fingers like they were Braille, like they would tell me something Lamia couldn’t say with her mouth.

She hadn’t come home yet.

Or maybe she had.

The penthouse was quiet. Dimly lit, the soft golden bulbs casting long, sleepy shadows against the walls. I stood in the hallway between Faisal’s nursery and our bedroom, the silence thick, like the walls were holding their breath.

I turned the knob to our room and pushed it open.

Lamia was there.

She was sitting at the foot of our bed, already changed into a faded black shirt of mine, one I hadn’t seen in weeks, and a pair of her old pajama shorts. Her hair was still damp, slicked back from a shower. She looked like she hadn’t moved since she sat down.

The orchids trembled in my hand.

Her head lifted, slowly. Her eyes were tired.

“Hey,” she said softly, like we hadn’t been speaking for weeks. Like it was normal.

I walked in, careful and quiet, like if I stomped too hard the moment would disappear. I placed the flowers on the dresser beside the vanity mirror.

“You got my flowers,” she said after a moment, standing up. Her voice was cautious, almost unsure.

I didn’t look at her yet. “How long were you here?”

“Around six,” Lamia answered, shifting her weight. “You weren’t home.”

I turned to her. “I had a meeting with the board.”

She nodded once, then glanced away like she was about to back off. But then she said, “I’ve been thinking of getting Faisal a new walker. He’s almost sprinting now.”

That made me breathe out a laugh I wasn’t expecting. “Yeah,” I murmured, remembering how he’d nearly tripped over my heels earlier. “He’s fast.”

Lamia took a step closer. “He gets that from you.”

I blinked at her.

And for a moment, we stood there, just staring at each other like strangers stuck in a room too small for the distance between them.

But then, she spoke again, soft and hesitant.

“Do you remember where we were a year ago today?”

I swallowed.

“Antipolo,” I replied quietly. “Your own estate. Everything smelled like sampaguita. And I hated my dress.”

Lamia smiled, small. “You looked like a goddess.”

I rolled my eyes, but I smiled too. “I tripped down the stairs.”

“You tripped like a goddess.”

We both laughed, and it was almost painful, the way my chest cracked open with the sound. I hadn’t laughed like this in so long. Not with her.

And then her expression turned soft. Regretful.

“Rani… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she whispered. “That day. With Peterson. You shouldn’t have been alone.”

I froze.

And something old inside me, a pain I’d buried so deep, pulled itself toward the surface.

“I didn’t just lose the baby that day,” I said, my voice fragile but sharp. “I lost the part of me that believed I was safe with you.”

Lamia flinched. Her shoulders sank. “I know.”

“You don’t know.” I looked at her then, hard. “You were busy pretending you didn’t love your ex. And I was bleeding on the floor while you were somewhere else. I thought I was dying, Lamia.”

“I know,” she choked. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time.

Then I turned toward the window, staring at the lights of BGC, blurry through the glass.

And finally, I asked, “Why the orchids?”

She hesitated. “You said once, in passing, that you liked them more than roses. That they don’t ask for attention. They just… stay. Even when you forget about them.”

My throat tightened.

I didn’t expect her to remember that.

“And I know I don’t deserve to send you anything,” she added. “But if I can remind you, even just for a second, that I’m still here… that I never left, not really, then I’ll keep sending them. I’ll keep waiting.”

I turned around, slowly.

“You stood outside the gate,” I said. “For five hours. In the rain.”

Lamia looked down. “Yeah.”

“With expensive paper bags,” I added.

“They were for you,” she said. “Anniversary gift. But I ruined the moment anyway.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I did. I forgot.”

She looked up at me, eyes wide, but I didn’t let her speak.

“I remembered too late,” I said. “But when I saw the flowers back at Santa Rosa, and when I heard you were there all along… I…” I stopped. My lips trembled.

She moved closer. Her steps were slow, careful, like she was approaching a bird with a broken wing.

“I never stopped being your wife” she whispered. “Even when I was stupid. Even when I broke us.”

I looked at her.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

I didn’t look away.

“Lamia,” I said, voice low. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than flowers and soup to earn me back.”

She gave a small, hopeful nod. “I know.”

“But tonight,” I added, my voice softening, “I don’t want to fight. I just want to lay beside you. Not for love. Not for promises. Just for peace.”

Lamia reached out, gently touching my fingers.

And I didn’t pull away.

Instead, I let her lace them with hers.

And for the first time in months, I let my heart rest.

Even if just for one night.

We didn’t speak much after that. We just changed into our usual bedtime things, her still in one of my old shirts and me in a silk chemise, hair freshly brushed and barefaced. Everything was quiet. Not the awkward kind of quiet, not tense. Just… peaceful.

The bed felt warmer than usual. Or maybe that was just Lamia’s body next to mine.

She wasn’t holding me. We weren’t tangled up like lovers. There was still distance between us. But there was also a kind of silent understanding hanging in the air, like neither of us wanted to shatter what little softness the night was willing to offer.

I lay there, facing the ceiling, and for a few minutes I just listened to the sound of her breathing. It wasn’t shallow like earlier when she was sick. No more shivering, no more groans. Just calm, steady breath. She was getting better.

Faisal stirred in the baby monitor. I reached over and adjusted the volume out of instinct. But when I did, Lamia shifted a little closer.

“Rani…” she whispered into the darkness.

“Hm?”

“I know this doesn’t fix anything. But thank you… for today.”

I didn’t respond immediately. My heart did that annoying thing, skipping, pausing, then pounding again like it didn’t know how to behave.

“You don’t need to thank me for taking care of the woman I’m still married to,” I replied smoothly, voice low, eyes still on the ceiling. “Let’s not pretend this is more romantic than it is.”

She didn’t argue.

But after a few seconds, she said, “Then let me thank you for not kicking me out after everything I’ve done. After Peterson. After… after losing the baby.”

My throat closed for a second.

“Don’t,” I said, firmer now. “Don’t mention that name in this room.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

Silence again.

But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It just… was.

And I didn’t know what came over me next. Maybe it was the weight of the last few days. Or the flowers. Or the memory of her soaked in rain, holding designer bags like a broken romantic cliché.

But I turned on my side and faced her.

She looked at me immediately. Her eyes were tired, but they were still so damn earnest.

I reached up, gently brushing her hair behind her ear.

“You want to fix this?” I asked.

She nodded, not even blinking. “With everything I have.”

I let my fingers linger just a little longer near her cheek before pulling my hand back.

“Then earn it,” I whispered.

“I will.”

“Starting now. Sleep. You’re still pale, Lamia. One stupid romantic speech doesn’t excuse the fact that you stood under the rain like a wet pigeon.”

She grinned softly, and I hated how endearing it looked on her.

“Bossy,” she murmured.

“Wife,” I corrected.

She smiled again, and this time, she didn’t say anything. She just nodded and slowly closed her eyes.

I stayed awake a little longer. Watching her.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like crying when I looked at her.

I didn’t feel rage.

I didn’t feel numb.

I felt… quiet.

Like maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something else.

Not healing.

Not yet.

But maybe the start of letting my heart breathe again. Even if just for tonight.