She was gone.
I stared at where she stood, the air still pulsing with her presence. Then I exhaled, the sound catching somewhere between relief and grief, my chest heavy with the painful curse of generations—mothers leaving daughters long before their feet ever carried them out the door.
Maybe that was all she had to give me—her leaving. Maybe absence was the only form of love she’d ever known how to offer.
But we didn’t have to inherit our pain. We didn’t have to become the people who hurt us. We were allowed to rewrite the story.
I pressed a hand to my belly again. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “We’ll be okay. She’ll change her mind. And even if she doesn’t...”
I looked around the room, the color still alive, still warm.
“...we already have everything we need.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
THE CAR WHIRRED AROUNDus, sunlight spilling in through the windshield and painting Khalifa’s face in gold. He had that stupidly calm expression on—the one that always meant he was enjoying torturing me.
“Are youevergoing to tell me where we’re going?” I asked, for what had to be the thirty-seventh time.
“Nope,” he said simply, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel like a man completely at peace with my suffering.
“You know,” I said, crossing my arms, “this is technically kidnapping. Pregnant woman, no idea where she’s being taken, possible risk of snack deprivation.”
He smirked. “Any kidnapper who took you would return you by nightfall.”
“Excuse me?”
“They’d probably drive you back themselves, apologizing the whole way.”
“You’re hilarious, truly,” I said flatly. “You get one concussion, and suddenly you’re a comedian.”
“Just saying. You don’t really handle mystery well.”
“I handle mystery fine,” I said, indignant. “I just prefer when it comes with an itinerary.”
“You’re already more demanding than a UN delegation,” he said. “I’m honestly impressed by your commitment.”
I leaned toward him, squinting skeptically. “Are we going somewhere romantic or somewhere involving bodily fluids? Because the last time you saidtrust me, we ended up ata birthing class and I had to watch you practice breathing techniques with a plastic pelvis.”
He laughed. “I’ll have you know, I was an excellent breathing partner.”
“You hyperventilated.”
“I was empathizing.”
“You almost passed out.”
He gave me a sideways glance. “Love makes people do stupid things.”
I sighed dramatically, resting my hand on my belly. “Hear that, Noor? Baba thinks passing out is romantic. You’d better lower your standards now.”
He reached over, resting his palm over mine. His thumb brushed against my fingers. “If she’s anything like you, her standards will be impossible.”
My heart did that ridiculous fluttering. “Flattery won’t distract me from the fact that I’m being held hostage,” I said, even though my voice betrayed a smile.
He chuckled under his breath. “You talk too much when you’re not in control.”
“And you talk too little when youare. It’s very suspicious.”
