“Please, step aside and let us pass,” he told those blocking the way, still unsettled by what had just happened. He didn’t stop watching them until their car drove away. Only when he heard the sound of the engine fading did he exhale deeply and turn back to Hawwa and the others.

“In which room did they lock her?” he asked. Sarah quickly pointed him to a door upstairs. Without wasting time, he rushed there, turned the key, and pushed the door open.

In anger, he didn’t bother to greet her. She was sitting before the mirror, wearing only an undergarment pulled up to her chest. Clearly, she had just bathed and was now grooming herself like someone carefree.

He cleared his throat loudly. She jumped up in surprise, blinking rapidly, raising both hands above her head. Then she asked, “Did they tell you what I did?”

That made his frustration boil over—she already knew what she had done was terribly wrong.

“Why?” he barked at her angrily.

Her lips trembled as if she would burst into tears, but before she could, he glared and warned, “Shut up! Don’t you dare cry.”

She pouted and muttered softly, “It’s because you don’t love me. You prefer Hawwa and that’s why you scold me.”

His face softened as he remembered her immaturity. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I was only upset, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Please, don’t be stubborn anymore.”

Her mood suddenly brightened and she smiled. “I’ll stop. Let me bring you Jazz’s phone. I called him, and we spoke. He’s not dead, he’s alive.” She laughed as she went to fetch the phone from the bed and handed it to him.

He took it with surprise. “How did you manage to call him?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t even know. I just pressed some buttons and the call went through.”

He checked the call log—the first number dialed was “Mom Turai.” He tapped it, and when she answered, Salsabeel respectfully greeted her. Then he asked about Jazz’s health. She assured him Jazz was recovering, and without asking who he was, she passed the phone to Jazz.

Hearing Jazz’s voice gave him peace—it was strong and lively, nothing like a sick person. They spoke for a long while, until Jazz reminded him about Khadeeja’s medicine. After their conversation, he saved the phone and kept it with him.

Later, he gathered all the children in the sitting room. Together they ate the meal Tiger and the soldiers had cooked for them. He had returned home hungry, and indeed the food was plentiful and delicious. Mama Tiger and her boys had proven to be excellent cooks. The children—especially Khadeeja—ate with joy, her oily mouth full, chattering endlessly.

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🌹 Zeenatu 🌹

The maid could not find peace of mind since the incident in the toilet with Benazir. Her ears had caught words that haunted her heart with regret. From that morning, she had refused to eat breakfast, and even skipped lunch, locking herself away in her bedroom. Tani tried everything to get her to open up, but Zeenatu remained withdrawn.

Now she lay on her prayer mat, wrapped in a long milk-colored hijab, the Qur’an stand still open before her. She must have been reciting before sleep overtook her.

When Tani entered to tidy the room, she saw Zeenatu curled up fast asleep. Walking closer, she whispered gently, “Zeenatu, please wake up and sleep on your bed. Lying on the mat like this isn’t good for you.”

But Zeenatu didn’t stir. Tani touched her, shook her lightly, even raised her voice, but nothing worked. Fear gripped her heart. She quickly loosened the hijab covering Zeenatu’s head and saw her drenched in sweat, clothes sticking to her skin, hair disheveled. She touched her neck—it was burning hot.

Terrified, Tani dashed to the living room where Dr. Shureim sat with Benazir, who was smiling as he narrated childhood stories.

Like a madwoman, Tani rushed in, waving her hands. Both turned to her in shock.

“What’s wrong, Tani?” Dr. Shureim asked.

Panting, she finally stammered, “It’s Zeenatu… she isn’t moving… she’s lying helpless…”

Immediately, Dr. Shureim and Benazir rushed with her to the bedroom. They found Zeenatu stretched out, looking lifeless.

Dr. Shureim knelt and lifted her head into his lap, calling her name repeatedly. Benazir crouched beside him, worried. Tani explained tearfully how she thought it was sleep, but when she tried everything, Zeenatu wouldn’t wake.

Benazir scolded Tani, accusing her of negligence, while Tani wept, begging them not to tell the family—afraid she would be dismissed from the house.

Dr. Shureim calmed them both and asked for water. After sprinkling her face several times without success, they almost lost hope. Then suddenly Zeenatu took a deep breath and whispered weakly, “Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.”

They all sighed in relief. She opened her eyes, weary and red from crying. When asked what was wrong, she shocked them by whispering: “I’m hungry.”

Tani admitted Zeenatu had refused food all day, flushing meals down the toilet whenever she brought them. Benazir scolded her for wasting good food.

Dr. Shureim asked Tani to prepare another meal, promising to feed her himself. When they were left alone, he cradled Zeenatu like a baby. She confessed she had overheard his morning conversation with Benazir and accused him of lying about never having loved before.

He eventually revealed his painful secret: he once had a child, Fatima, born out of wedlock. The girl had died in infancy, and it was a wound he still carried. Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke.

Zeenatu’s heart softened. She begged his forgiveness and embraced him, promising that when they married, she would bear him twins and name one after his lost daughter, Fatima.

What they didn’t know was that Benazir, returning with food, had overheard everything. Shock and confusion filled her heart. How could Zeenatu and Dr. Shureim speak of marriage? Did she even know his true age?

Benazir entered calmly, but her heart was in turmoil. She helped them feed Zeenatu, yet she secretly watched the loving glances they exchanged—glances that disturbed her deeply.

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🤍 Hajiya Adama 🤍

She sat before her mirror, dressed in an elegant grey lace outfit, accessorized with jewelry. After spraying perfume and picking her handbag, she was about to leave when Uncle Abdallah entered, holding baby Junaid. They wore matching blue shadda outfits.

She smiled warmly. He teased her gently, saying she had kept them waiting outside. He admired her from head to toe, praising her beauty and cleanliness, telling her she combined every quality a man could desire. She laughed happily at his words, telling him he himself was the secret behind her glow—his love, care, and attention gave her peace of mind.

He smiled back, confessing that his love for her only grew stronger each day.