Chapter 37

Rani’s Point Of View

It was a Sunday.

A quiet, blue-skied, soft-breeze kind of Sunday, the kind you only get after a storm, when everything in life feels… freshly rinsed.

We’d both agreed to spend the day away from our offices, from boardrooms and phones and the exhausting pressure of being who we were in the world. For once, no designer heels, no stock market updates, no meetings about supply chains or sustainability partnerships. Just us. Just family.

And right now, I was walking through the park with my son on my hip and sunlight slipping through the trees like gold dust.

Faisal was babbling again, soft, incoherent sounds that made absolutely no sense but came with the kind of earnest intensity that made me want to believe he was trying to tell me some ancient truth. His chubby little fingers were tangled in my hair, tugging, curious, and entirely too pleased with himself.

I held him a little tighter and kissed his cheek, breathing him in.

God, he smelled like baby lotion and sunshine and something else uniquely him. The kind of scent that cracked open something tender in my chest every time I held him like this. His warm little body leaned trustingly against mine, his tiny shoes swinging gently above the grass as I walked.

And behind me, just a few steps back, I knew she was there.

Lamia.

I didn’t even have to turn around. I could feel her eyes on us, that quiet, thoughtful gaze that always settled on me like a second skin. She wasn’t saying anything, not yet, just watching. Observing. Maybe memorizing.

I could hear the soft crunch of her boots against the gravel path, steady and elegant, her long coat swaying gently with every step. I imagined her hands tucked into her pockets, that little smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, and her eyes, those intense, endless eyes, focused solely on me and her son.

Our son.

There was something about today that didn’t need words. The world felt hushed, reverent, like even the sky knew how sacred this moment was.

Birds chirped above us in lazy rhythm, families nearby laughed gently over picnic blankets, and the air was cool but not cold. I glanced around and noticed a small pond not far from where we walked, the sunlight glinting off its still surface like silver. A few ducks bobbed peacefully near the edges.

Faisal giggled suddenly and smacked a hand against my chest, his wide eyes catching on a butterfly flitting by.

“You see that, baby?” I murmured, smiling. “That’s a butterfly.”

He babbled again, louder this time, excited, his little hands flying up like he was trying to catch it. I laughed softly and adjusted him in my arms, pressing another kiss to the top of his silky hair.

“Slow down, little king. We’ll catch one for you soon.”

And then, finally, Lamia’s voice floated forward.

“You look good with him like that,” she said, and I turned my head just slightly to glance over my shoulder.

She was exactly how I pictured her. Coat open to reveal her linen blouse tucked into cream high-waisted trousers, sunglasses perched lazily on her head, hair cascading over one shoulder like she walked out of some high-end fashion editorial. Effortless. Regal. Always so devastatingly composed.

I raised a brow at her. “Like what? Like a full-time mom?”

She smirked. “Like a goddess holding her heir.”

I snorted and turned back to the path, but my smile betrayed me. “Ang drama mo.”

“I’m an Al-Gaddafi. It’s in the blood.”

She came up beside me now, matching my pace. I noticed the way her hand hovered near my lower back for a moment, just barely, like she was asking permission. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe.

And then she touched me. Just a light graze. A quiet, grounding presence. I pretended I didn’t notice how warm my skin felt where her fingers lingered.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

I blinked. “Para saan?”

“For… this. Today. You could’ve said no. I know you’ve been drowning in backlogs at the office.”

I shrugged, keeping my eyes ahead. “I’d cancel a hundred meetings for a day like this.”

She didn’t respond right away, and I glanced at her again. Her expression was soft, almost boyish in its sincerity.

“I like seeing you like this,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Sweaty and probably covered in baby drool?”

Lamia smiled, and for a second, I saw it, that unfiltered joy that broke through her usually polished façade. “Happy,” she corrected. “Content.”

I held her gaze for a second too long, heart thudding.

She was right.

I was happy.

It wasn’t the kind of happiness that came from luxury or perfection or control. It was messy and simple and delicate. It was watching my son marvel at a butterfly. It was walking through a park with the woman I once swore I’d never love, and now couldn’t imagine my life without. It was soft, aching peace.

“Come on,” I murmured. “Let’s go sit by the pond.”

She nodded, and we walked together toward the shaded bench, our shadows overlapping as we moved.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, what kind of mess would wait in our inboxes or what old ghosts might try to claw their way back into our lives. But right now, this Sunday was ours.

And I was holding everything I ever needed.

The wooden bench was a little weather-worn, its metal legs anchored into the soil just beside the still, glimmering pond. I lowered myself onto it slowly, adjusting Faisal on my lap as he squirmed in delight, still reaching for the invisible butterfly he was so determined to catch. His little hands moved clumsily, and I couldn’t help but laugh under my breath as I wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him from tumbling.

Lamia sat beside me with all the grace and elegance of a woman who never once looked rushed. Her body angled slightly toward mine, one arm lazily draped across the backrest, the other resting in her lap. From the corner of my eye, I could feel her gaze skimming over me, not in a loud or obvious way, but like she was etching me into her memory. As if she were afraid the moment might disappear if she didn’t hold on to it with her eyes.

Faisal turned to her with a wide, gummy grin, babbling excitedly again.

“Lamia, say hi to your fan,” I teased, nudging her with my elbow.

She responded by leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. “He’s not a fan,” she said, voice low, warm. “He’s my whole religion.”

That made my throat tighten, unexpectedly.

I looked down at our son, at the way his tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and then up at Lamia again. Her expression was different now. Calmer. Softer. She wasn’t putting on her usual armor, the one she wore in boardrooms or in front of anyone who needed to believe she was untouchable. This was the version of Lamia I had learned to cherish: the one who let the corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiled, the one who hummed under her breath when she brushed Faisal’s hair, the one who kissed me slowly when the world was silent.

“You know,” I said quietly, “I never thought I’d have this. Any of it.”

She looked at me, a question forming behind her lashes. “This?”

“A family,” I admitted. “A day like this. Peace. Happiness. I used to think those were only rewards for people who lived simpler lives. Not for people like us.”

Her eyes held mine, unflinching. “We didn’t choose simple. We chose each other.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But… sometimes I wonder if I’m still figuring out what that really means.”

Faisal squirmed again and let out a little whine, distracted by a nearby toddler playing with a red ball. I let him slide off my lap slowly, letting his tiny feet hit the grass, and held his hands as he stumbled forward toward the sound. He was getting so good at this, walking, giggling, finding balance. God, he was growing fast.

Lamia stood beside me, silent, but I could feel the way her fingers brushed lightly against my lower back again as we watched him. “He looks like you when he laughs,” she murmured.

I smiled faintly. “He has your nose.”

She chuckled. “Lucky kid.”

There was a pause.

And then she said, “I’ve been thinking…”

I turned toward her. “Oh no.”

She laughed softly. “Don’t panic. It’s not a big change. Just… an idea.”

“Go on.”

Her voice dropped a little, thoughtful and careful. “I want more days like this. No boardroom. No press. No assistant whispering my name every three seconds. Just… us. Faisal. Peace.”

I blinked at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice.

“You’re talking about balance,” I said quietly.

She nodded. “I know I don’t do it well. I overwork. I micromanage. And when I feel vulnerable, I… shut you out.”

I didn’t respond at first. I didn’t need to. I just let my fingers slide through hers, holding her hand quietly between us as the breeze tickled the edges of my hair.

“I want this too,” I said finally. “But only if we promise to protect it. We’ve been through too much not to.”

Lamia nodded. “We will. I promise.”

I looked at her. Really looked. The warm gold of her skin in the sunlight. The gentle slope of her cheek. The strength in her jaw. The softness in her eyes. She was this impossible contradiction of armor and vulnerability. Fire and stillness. All the things I used to fear in a partner, too strong, too proud, too much like me, and yet, now, the very things I could no longer imagine living without.

Faisal plopped down on the grass nearby, his diapered bottom landing with a dramatic thump. He looked up at us with a proud little giggle, and both Lamia and I couldn’t help but break into laughter at the same time. I glanced at her, and our laughter tangled into something else, something heavier. More intimate.

God, we’d come so far.

From hating each other behind champagne flutes and curt boardroom nods… to this.

She was watching me now like she was remembering it too.

She leaned in just slightly, our faces close, the kind of close where only one more breath would close the distance. “Rani,” she whispered.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Let’s never go back to before.”

I let my forehead rest gently against hers, our eyes closed now, the world around us nothing more than soft light and the distant sound of children laughing.

“We won’t,” I whispered back. “Not this time.”

And as I sat there with my hand in hers and the son we created playing in the grass beneath the sun, I believed it.

I finally, truly believed it.

——

The air-conditioning hit us first, the satisfying chill that greeted our skin the second we stepped inside the massive, gilded halls of the luxury wing of the mall. Faisal giggled on my hip, babbling nonsense as I gently bounced him while we walked. Lamia’s palm was resting on my lower back, warm, steady, and possessive in the way only she knew how to be, like the world was watching and she didn’t care, or rather, she wanted them to watch.

She leaned in, brushing a kiss to my cheekbone that made a little flutter rise in my chest. Then another, this time grazing the corner of my lips. My pulse flickered. We were barely five feet from the marble entryway of Bvlgari, and she was already acting like we were back in our bedroom.

“Lamia,” I muttered under my breath, trying not to laugh. “We’re in public.”

Her eyes glittered. “You think that stops me?”

I rolled my eyes dramatically but let myself enjoy it. Let her kiss me again, this time fully on the lips, even as one of the well-dressed store clerks, heels sharp, blazer tailored, opened the glass door and greeted us with a knowing smile.

“Ma’am Lamia. Ma’am Rani. Welcome back to Bvlgari.”

Of course they recognized us. Our faces had been on a handful of magazines, covers of a few local business publications, and even a couple of socialite spreads that labeled us “Philippines’ most glamorous power couple.” And true to the title, we walked in like we owned the entire wing.

“Thank you,” I said smoothly, adjusting Faisal on my arm. “I’d like to see the Serpenti collection today.”

The sales associate smiled wider. “Right this way, ma’am.”

Lamia raised an eyebrow at me, intrigued. “Serpenti?” she repeated softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “You’re in the mood for snakes now?”

I shot her a knowing glance. “Just one. You.”

She laughed, full and throaty, her arm wrapping around my waist again as we strolled deeper into the showroom. Crystal lights refracted from every glass case, sparkling like miniature suns across rows of diamonds and rare stones. Faisal’s eyes widened with childlike wonder, reaching toward the twinkling lights with both hands. His head rested lightly against my shoulder, the scent of his baby shampoo still clinging to him.

Lamia whispered against my ear, her voice low and teasing. “You’re not seriously planning to spoil me again, are you?”

“I spoil what’s mine,” I replied coolly, with the faintest smile. “And I’ve been eyeing something for you since last month.”

She gave me that look, that proud, smug, amused diva look that said she was pretending to be surprised but absolutely loving the attention.

We reached a small, velvet-lined pedestal where a gleaming necklace lay, coiled and elegant like the creature it was inspired by. The Serpenti, polished gold shaped into a sensual, winding snake, its head set with emerald eyes that gleamed dangerously beneath the display lights. It was powerful. Feminine. Expensive.

“Try it on,” I said, glancing at the saleswoman who immediately gestured for a tray and gloves.

Lamia looked at me for a moment, then slowly slid her fingers under the necklace, letting the cool weight settle against her collarbone as the woman helped her clip it behind her neck. The effect was instant. She looked divine. Ethereal. Like Cleopatra in a crisp designer jumpsuit.

“Say something,” she murmured, turning her head slightly to show me how the serpent’s head framed her skin.

“I am,” I said, breathless. “But it’s inappropriate for public.”

She let out a low laugh and turned to the saleswoman. “She’ll take it.”

I blinked. “I’m supposed to say that.”

Lamia tilted her head. “Too slow, love.”

God, I wanted to kiss her again. And I did. Right there in front of the staff, who all graciously looked away even if their smiles were obvious.

My lips met hers in a kiss that wasn’t about passion, it was about pride, about gratitude, about having her next to me and knowing we’d built this luxury, this peace, this life from the dust of everything we survived. Her hand slid up to cup my jaw, her other one brushing the top of Faisal’s head gently like a natural mother. I forgot we were being watched. I forgot anything existed outside the orbit of this moment.

“Mommy pretty,” Faisal said suddenly, blinking up at us. “Mama pretty.”

My heart cracked. In the most perfect way.

Lamia melted. Completely. “He talks in compliments now?”

I nodded, lips twitching into a smirk. “Of course he does. He was raised by divas.”

We both laughed, and I handed Faisal to her so I could finish the purchase. While the sales associates wrapped the necklace in that signature black and gold Bvlgari box, I watched the two of them, my wife and my son, standing together in a sea of diamonds like they belonged there. Like royalty.

And maybe we were.

Maybe not the kind that wore crowns and ruled countries.

But the kind who carried war in our past and peace in our present. The kind who burned in silence and healed in public. The kind who kissed each other like we didn’t owe anyone permission.

I signed the charge slip with my signature black card, lips curled into a quiet smile.

For once, I didn’t feel like I needed to prove anything.

I had everything I ever wanted.

And I was about to walk out of Bvlgari holding both of them.

——

I should’ve just rented the whole place.

That was my first thought the second we stepped into Tom’s World, the bright, chaotic symphony of neon lights, laughter, and the constant pinging of arcade machines swallowed us whole. The air was thick with the scent of buttered popcorn and sugar, and kids at least fifty of them, were already racing from game to game like caffeinated fireflies.

I adjusted my oversized Celine sunglasses perched on top of my head, letting the aircon whip through my long hair as I shifted my grip on Faisal’s tiny hand. He was tugging me forward with all the enthusiasm of an eight-month-old toddler who had just mastered walking. The second his tiny sneakers touched the glossy tile floor, he was off, his chubby legs wiggling with excitement, his eyes gleaming at the colorful chaos.

“Mama!” he squealed, pointing at a carousel that spun slowly near the center. “Mama, look!”

I glanced at Lamia beside me, who was dressed in a black dress and YSL hills, still immaculate despite chasing after our son all afternoon. She caught my eye and grinned, already pulling out a Tom’s World card from her Louis Vuitton crossbody.

“I’ll load up credits,” she said, tilting her chin to the counter. “We’re going to need them.”

“I was going to rent the whole damn place,” I said under my breath, smoothing the hem of my white tank top and fixing my gold hoops. “But maybe it’s better he gets to play with other kids. You know, like… normal fun.”

Lamia smirked. “Normal fun? Rani, the last time you said that was last year, we ended up at a private beach in Palawan with twenty staff. I really wanted to stab you 100 times that time.”

I narrowed my eyes at her but couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of me. “Okay, normal for us, at least.”

We followed Faisal, who was now tottering toward a group of little boys playing one of those whack-a-mole games. He was staring in awe, mouth open, eyes dancing from the lights to the sounds to the actual kids themselves. It hit me, watching him, he was so new. New to the world, to people his size, to noise and games and the way joy lived in the fingertips of children.

This was his first real playtime with strangers. With other toddlers. And I could already see how badly he wanted to join.

“Go on, baby,” I whispered, crouching beside him. “Go say hi.”

He looked up at me like I just told him to climb Mount Everest, his little hand tightening around mine. “Mama come?”

I nodded. “Always.”

He took a cautious step forward… then another. A chubby boy with curly hair noticed him and waved. Faisal blinked, then waved back, and just like that, he was included. I let go slowly, biting my lip with the urge to hover, but Lamia was there, standing beside me with her phone out, recording everything like the proud, obsessed mother she was.

“He’s doing great,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said, watching Faisal shriek in laughter as one of the boys handed him a soft toy hammer. He couldn’t even reach the moles, but he didn’t care. He was playing.

People were beginning to notice us, of course.

The glances started subtly, mothers whispering to each other near the cotton candy booth, teenagers elbowing each other and trying to snap a photo discreetly. A group of girls near the claw machine started giggling when Lamia turned and smiled at Faisal. One of them mouthed, That’s Rani Hidalgo and That’s Lamia Al-Gaddafi.

Yes, that’s us.

The power couple. The businesswomen. The socialites.

But here, in this neon-splashed temple of chaos, I was just Mama. And she was just Mama Lamia. And our son was just a kid, doing what kids do, screaming over plastic balls and pointing at LED lights like they were magic.

And honestly? It felt grounding.

Lamia returned to my side and slid her hand around my waist. “You’re thinking again,” she murmured, leaning close. “You get that look when your brain’s spinning.”

“I was just thinking…” I trailed off, eyes back on Faisal who was now laughing so hard his cheeks were flushed. “This is the first time he’s really played like this. With other kids. I didn’t realize how much I wanted him to have that.”

“You were about to book the whole place just to protect him from other people,” she teased gently. “But look at him now.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah… he’s thriving.”

“And you’re doing amazing,” Lamia added, kissing my temple. “You always do.”

I leaned into her, arms crossed, taking in the sight of our son’s joy as my heart stretched in my chest, too full of something I could barely name. Was this what peace felt like?

Then suddenly, a little boy tripped near Faisal, and my mama instincts kicked in instantly.

Before I could move, Lamia was already there, kneeling beside both toddlers. She helped the boy up gently, checked if he was okay, and then guided Faisal away just a bit with a calm grace that made the nearby moms swoon. One even mouthed she’s so beautiful to her friend.

I smirked.

Tell me something I don’t know.

She came back to me after making sure everything was settled, dusting her pants casually like nothing happened. “Crisis averted.”

“Of course,” I said. “The hero arrives in Dior.”

We both laughed, and I couldn’t help but slip my hand into hers. “After this, let’s get him ice cream.”

“Cotton candy or gelato?” she asked.

“Both,” I said without hesitation. “He has two moms. It’s his birthright.”

She chuckled. “You spoil him.”

“I spoil you more.”

“Debatable.”

We smiled at each other as the arcade lights reflected in her eyes like tiny stars. All around us, life buzzed, cameras clicked, whispers followed our path, but none of it mattered.

Faisal ran back into our arms then, demanding a ride on the carousel, his cheeks pink and glowing with excitement.

We followed, like we always did. Together. All three of us.

Famous or not.

Diva or not.

This was our life, and I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.

——

The carousel spun slowly, lights glittering like halos above Faisal’s head as he giggled and held tight to the golden pole of the painted horse he insisted was named “Momo.” Lamia stood just by the edge, watching him with that soft smile she always saved for him, her arms folded, eyes glinting with warmth. I was standing a few steps away, leaning against the padded wall of the play area with my fingers curled around a paper cup of strawberry gelato. Half melted. Forgotten.

Because something else caught my attention.

Crawling toward me on unsteady little arms and chubby knees was a baby girl, couldn’t have been older than ten months. She had wide honey-colored eyes, hair as soft as lamb’s wool, and cheeks that practically begged to be kissed. Her tiny mouth curled into the most precious grin when she reached the tips of my heels. She held up her hands like she wanted me to pick her up.

I froze.

My heart dropped to my stomach in the quietest thud.

Her eyes… her tiny dimple… that little coo she made when she babbled up at me. God.

My hand moved on its own, trembling slightly as I crouched down and offered my fingers to her. She giggled, sweet, innocent, pure. She wrapped her little hands around two of my fingers like she’d known me her whole life. My vision blurred.

In that moment, everything came rushing back. Every single ache I buried.

The image of the sonogram I had hidden in my bedside drawer. The baby I lost. The one I carried with so much hope in my heart, the one I had already named in my dreams. A girl. I knew it. I felt it in my soul. I had imagined brushing her hair, putting bows on her head, painting her little nails pink like mine. I had imagined her first dress, her first birthday, her first tantrum.

But I never got to meet her.

And all because of him.

Peterson.

My stomach twisted at the memory of that day. His hands. That push. The sound of my body hitting the marble floor. My scream. The blood. The way the doctor shook their head. The way Lamia begged me to forgive her because she brought him back into our lives.

I swallowed the ache, blinked away the tears. My fingers gently touched the baby girl’s soft curls. She leaned into my palm like a cat. Trusting. Free.

“She likes you,” came a soft voice.

I turned.

A woman approached with a kind smile and an Hermes diaper bag slung on her shoulder. She was elegant, maybe in her early thirties, in a linen dress and Cartier jewelry that told me she wasn’t just any mother in this arcade. She had the same quiet wealth as Lamia. Effortless and composed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, scooping her daughter into her arms with gentle ease. “She’s very curious. I turned around for a second…”

“No, it’s okay,” I managed, my voice rougher than I wanted. “She’s… beautiful.”

“She’s trouble,” the woman chuckled, brushing a soft kiss on her daughter’s forehead. Then she looked at me again. Her eyes widened a little. “Wait… Are you… Rani Hidalgo?”

I gave a soft smile, brushing my fingers along the side of my gelato cup. “Guilty.”

“And Lamia is…? Oh my goodness.” She beamed. “I knew it. I knew I recognized you both. I saw your interview last year. The family business summit in Paris. You two are absolutely iconic.”

I laughed softly. “Well, thank you.”

She looked at the baby in her arms. “My husband and I always talk about how refreshing it is to see powerful women raising families. Honestly… you two are such an inspiration. You make it look easy.”

I nearly choked on my breath. Easy?

If only she knew.

The midnight fights. The broken plates. The divorce papers I burned. The endless tug-of-war between my pride and my pain. The way Lamia kissed my wounds like they were hers. The way we clawed our way back to each other. The baby we lost.

It wasn’t easy. But God, it was ours.

Then the woman said something that cracked open the last of the walls I was holding up.

“You should have another baby,” she said casually, adjusting her baby’s blanket. “I mean, if I may say so… you and Lamia? You’d make the most beautiful girls. I’ve always thought little girls soften their mothers even more.”

I froze.

Lamia had walked closer by then, now standing right beside me. She had Faisal back in her arms, his cheek resting on her shoulder, his thumb in his mouth, clearly ready to nap.

She heard it. That last line.

Her eyes flicked to mine.

I knew she remembered.

I felt her fingers graze mine and intertwine them gently, silently. The silent grief we both shared came flooding between us like a phantom… but not to ruin us. No. It reminded me that it was real. That we both carried her memory.

The woman eventually said goodbye with another compliment and disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a trail of jasmine perfume and baby giggles.

Lamia pulled me aside, into the shadowed hallway of the photo booth area where it was quiet.

“You okay?” she asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek.

I looked up at her and nodded, though my throat tightened. “I just saw her.”

“Who?”

“Our daughter,” I whispered. “What she would’ve looked like.”

Lamia’s breath hitched. Her grip on my hand tightened. Then she leaned her forehead against mine, Faisal snuggled between us like a living reminder of our strength.

“I still think about her,” she said quietly. “Every day.”

“Me too.”

“And if someday… you want to try again,” she whispered, “we’ll do it. Together.”

I blinked fast, tears threatening. “You mean it?”

She kissed my lips gently. “Always.”

In the distance, the carousel lights flickered on again, and I swear for a second I saw her there. Our daughter. Spinning in laughter and light.

And I knew, somehow, that she was with us. Always would be.