She felt her heart pounding hard, as if war drums were being beaten inside her chest.

Her trembling fingers opened the diary, and she began to read.

“Wa’iyazubillah!” she exclaimed as her brain kept flashing the image of that girl’s face. Indeed, she was convinced beyond doubt that the diary belonged to Baby Preety, because most of the things written inside were stories she had heard before from Natasha.

She didn’t finish reading it. Instead, she closed the diary and dropped her head onto it. By Allah, I can’t even describe the shock she went through. She was completely bewildered, unable to believe it. Deep in her heart, she kept telling herself that Uncle Musa could never commit such a terrible act. A man who feared God, kindhearted as he was, would never do such a thing. But doubt began to creep in, because if not for Baby Preety’s diary, then where else would those pictures of Big Boss, Natasha, and Baby Preety have been found? Yet she did not want the suspicion against him to turn out true.

“Now do you believe me, or are you still standing your ground?”

She nodded her head. “I have no stance, but I believe in Big Boss, and I believe in you. Still, I cannot accept what you are accusing him of. I accept that the pictures were found in Baby Preety’s diary, but I don’t think she is the same girl Unaizah told us about. Please, I beg you, investigate him again.”

No matter how much Chief tried to convince her that the man was not righteous, she refused to believe. She stood her ground, trusting her man as though she had been bewitched. He did not feel anger toward her at all—only pity overwhelmed his heart. He realized she was deeply confused and didn’t want the accusations proven true, for fear of what it would do to her. That was why, from the beginning, he hadn’t planned on telling her anything about her baby—so she wouldn’t collapse under the truth.

“Ummi, I’ll give you time to think about what I’ve told you. Even if you don’t believe it, I still want you to cooperate with us, please…”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I promised him I would never let anyone know we are together. If he ever hears I broke that promise, he will feel betrayed, like I stabbed him in the back. I don’t even want to speak about him to anyone.”

Those words pained Chief deeply, but he didn’t show it on his face.

“You can go,” he said. Just as she was about to rise, he stopped her. “But let me warn you—don’t you ever let that man realize we suspect him! Not him, not even your friend. If I hear a word of this slip to anyone, hmm, I’ll lock you in a cell myself, and you’ll also fall under suspicion. And don’t change your attitude toward him—continue exactly as you’ve always done.”

His words shook her badly. For the second time, he had threatened her. Her face was drenched in sweat, her body restless, her mind unsettled. He had thoroughly confused and terrified her.

He handed her a handkerchief. “Wipe the sweat off your face. I don’t want anyone to notice your state.”

With trembling hands, she took the hanky and began to wipe her face. He kept urging her, “Wipe it properly…” She replied, “Okay.” After finishing, she turned to leave with the hanky, but he stopped her again. “Give me back my handkerchief.” She handed it over without even looking back, eager to leave his sitting room.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the couch. The burden of this world had weighed heavily upon him. To avoid drowning in dark thoughts, he never let his heart rest without constant remembrance of God. 💔

After Ummi stepped out of the room, she leaned her back against the wall, her mind replaying scenes that stirred doubts about her beloved. She kept remembering the day she first saw Danish without a shirt—the tattoo etched on his back had stuck in her memory, identical to Big Boss’s, as if photocopied. Since she had known Americans, she had never seen anyone with that exact tattoo except Danish. That day, it struck her as strange. Now, Chief’s words kept echoing in her heart. Yes, that was Baby Preety’s diary—the only place where their photos could be found. What troubled her further was the nickname written in Preety’s handwriting. And in Unaizah’s story, she had mentioned her father’s name, linking him to Daddy’s household. Everything tangled in her mind, leaving her confused, lost in endless contradictions. 🍁

“Ummi, are you done talking with Chief?” A voice startled her. She turned to see Taj sitting in his wheelchair. She quickly masked her anxiety with a smile. “Yes, we’re done. In fact, he told me I could leave.”

He clearly noticed her distress but chose to stay silent.

“You should really set aside that wheelchair since you’ve started recovering. If not, you’ll forget how to walk again,” she teased.

He smiled. “Wallahi, I’m used to it now. You know what they say—habit becomes second nature. The little exercise I get from using it has made me fond of it.” He tried standing slowly. She smiled at him. “Should I bring in the chair for you?”

“No, I don’t want Unaizah to know I’ve recovered. She enjoys pushing me around in it, pretending I can’t move myself.”

Despite her troubled mind, his words made her laugh. He had found a way to use his sickness as an excuse to gain Unaizah’s affection.

After he entered Chief’s sitting room, Ummi wearily walked to her bedroom. She passed by Unaizah and Batool, who were studying with textbooks spread across the rug. She quietly slipped past them, avoiding conversation, because at that moment, she longed for solitude more than anything