Epilogue 1
Rheadur
Two years later
“Need help?” I ask as I walk into our chambers.
“No, I’ve got it. It’s not that hard,” he says, though I can clearly see the struggle it takes for him to get a sock on our daughter’s tiny left foot. Malika is only seven months old, and she’s fast asleep. “Did you finish your college work?”
I’m starting my third year of business school, and I can’t help but marvel at how women around the world manage to juggle kids and classes at the same time.
I have plenty of nannies and maids—and my mother, who visits whenever she can—but even so, I constantly feel like I owe my children more of me.
Between university, motherhood, and my chocolate factory, sometimes I think I’m going to lose my mind.
I’ve decided that, just like Kaled did with his own company and following his advice, I’ll hire someone to manage mine.
As much as it thrills me to see my business thriving, nothing brings me greater joy than being with my family. Somehow, I feel like I’ve been missing too much of them.
“I can’t study anymore tonight,” I admit. “Every five minutes I lose focus, thinking about you three up here. I miss my babies and my love.”
He finally finishes the task, covers our little girl, and settles her beside us before opening his arms to me.
I walk over and sit on his lap.
“Where’s Tajj?” I ask.
“Asleep too. The nanny just put him down. He came to show me his teeth so I could check how well he’s learned to brush them.”
I laugh, and then, out of nowhere, tears start to fall. “I’m the worst mother in the world.”
“No, love, you’re human. You’re doing an incredible job showing our local products to the world. That deal you closed with the French restaurant to be their exclusive chocolate supplier was brilliant.”
“But I want you all. More time with the three of you. To make love to you all night, not just once and then pass out from exhaustion.”
He starts laughing, and just like every time, I fall in love with him a little more. Kaled’s smiles are special to me. He told me he didn’t smile much before we got married.
“I’m serious,” I mutter, but by then, he’s already laying me down on the bed, kissing me.
My husband has been trying to adjust his schedule so that one of us is always there when our kids go to sleep. We talked about it, and he believes it’s important for them to feel that someone’s always there for them. I think we both crave that stability for different reasons.
Me because my mother was taken far away from me. Him because he lost his.
“We make one hell of a team, Adeela. As parents and as lovers.”
“As lovers, modesty aside, we’re perfectly matched,” I say, feeling my face heat up. “But as parents, if there were a competition, I’d come in last.”
Instead of comforting me, he slides his hand under my blouse and pinches my nipple.
“Ow!” I protest.
“If you could eat something right now, what would it be?”
What a strange question!
“I don’t know . . . something sweet and salty at the same time?”
He smiles, like he’s keeping a secret I haven’t figured out yet. “And how’s your appetite in the mornings?”
My eyes widen, caught between shock and delight. “You think I’m pregnant again?”
“No, love,” he says, pulling me on top of him. “We are.”