Abini held her breath, pressed flat against the cool hardwood floor beneath the enormous mahogany bed, barely stifling a laugh. The white wedding dress, which she still hadn’t changed out of since the ceremony, billowed around her like a cloud, the veil tangled in the box springs above her head.

“If Omari sees me like this, looking like a tiny angel crawling out from under the bed, he’s going to have a heart attack,” she thought, picturing her new husband walking into the room. He’d search every corner, calling out worriedly until she burst out yelling, “Surprise!” And they’d laugh until they cried, just like in the old days.

Back then, Omari was different. Fun, carefree, with bright eyes and a contagious laugh. He used to show up under her window at midnight with an acoustic guitar, singing the blues until the neighbors started yelling and threatening to call the police. She would dash out in her pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, and they’d run off, giggling like teenagers, even though they were both well over thirty.

The door creaked open.

But instead of her husband’s familiar footsteps, Abini heard the distinctive clack of her mother-in-law’s heels. Zola swept into the room with that air of authority she always carried, as if this were her territory, her domain, where she was the absolute queen.

“Yes, Chenise. I’m home now,” she said into her phone, settling down precisely on the edge of the bed that Abini was hiding under. The springs groaned, forcing the bride to flatten herself even further against the floor.

“No, no way. The girl turned out to be very docile. Too much so, I’d say. Omari says she’s practically an orphan, that her daddy is some nickel-and-dime engineer at a plant, barely scraping by.

“I went personally to see her place. A hovel in some run-down building out in Decar. A shame, truly. But now my Omari has leverage.”

Docile. Orphan.

Abini felt her blood run cold. Her father was an engineer, yes, but not just any kind. He was the head of design at Kinetic Designs LLC, a defense industry firm, a modest man who never boasted about his position. The apartment in that old building actually belonged to her late Aunt Clara, and her father had kept it for sentimental reasons because he’d grown up there. In reality, they lived in a spacious three-bedroom condo in the affluent Buckhead neighborhood.

She had simply never felt the need to flaunt any of that to her future mother-in-law.

“You understand, Chenise, the plan is simple,” Zola continued.

Abini heard the telltale click of a lighter. Omari had sworn to her that his mother had quit smoking ten years ago.

“They’ll live together for six months, a year at most. Then Omari starts saying they’re not compatible. I’ll play my part. I’ll say the daughter-in-law doesn’t respect me, talks back, can’t cook, the house is a mess. You know, the usual routine.

“They’ll get an amicable separation. And the condo, which is in her name now, of course, we’ll claim it in court. Omari put up the money. We have all the receipts saved. Besides, the girl won’t put up a fight. What can a girl from the country do against us? Omari and I have it all mapped out.”

Zola’s phone rang again.

“Hello, Omari. Yes, son. I’m in your room. No, your brand-new wife isn’t around. She’s probably out celebrating with her friends. Don’t worry, she can’t escape now. She’s got the ring on her finger, the seal on the certificate. Done deal. Bird in a cage.

“Just remember what we talked about. No weakness from day one. She needs to understand who runs this house. And don’t you dare give in to her little tears or tantrums. They’re all the same. You give them an inch and they take a mile.

“Drive safe, son. I’ll stay a little longer. I’m going to smoke a cigarette. I’ll open the window so the smoke doesn’t stink up the place. Wouldn’t want your little wife to start complaining.”

The door closed behind her.

Under the bed, still as a stone, lay the bride, feeling the world crumble around her. She was trembling, not from the cold, but from betrayal, rage, and disgust. The man she had entrusted her life to was a fraud, an accomplice in his mother’s scheme to rob her, and the signs had always been there.

She remembered how Omari insisted the condo be put solely in her name.

“Baby, it’s easier with the paperwork, and you’ll feel more secure. It’s yours,” he’d said, kissing her forehead.

And she, the fool, had believed him.

She also recalled Zola’s probing questions about her family.

“And your mother? You don’t have anyone else left? Oh, what a tragedy. The poor little girl.”

Those looks, which Abini had mistaken for tenderness, were actually pure calculation. The cold instinct of a hunter sizing up her prey.

Zola stood up from the bed, paced the room, and stopped in front of the mirror.

“Don’t worry, Chenise. Patience. I put up with my late husband for thirty years until he finally kicked the bucket. And now the house, the properties, and the accounts are mine. He thought I was some country bumpkin only fit for making soup. Let this one believe it too. All the better.

“Well, darling, I’ll let you go. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how the love birds’ first night went. If they even find each other, that is.”

She let out a nasty little laugh and left the room.

---

Abini remained motionless for a long time, afraid to move. Then, slowly, she crawled out, sat on the floor, and hugged her knees. The dress was covered in dust, the veil ripped, but none of that mattered. The important thing was deciding what to do.

Her first impulse was to grab her things and leave immediately in her wedding dress in the middle of the night. But something new awakened in her, a cold determination.

“No, sweethearts. You messed with the wrong one,” she murmured, getting up.

In her wedding purse was her cell phone. She quickly opened the voice recorder app. Luckily, she had managed to start recording when she heard her mother-in-law’s footsteps, initially wanting to capture Omari’s reaction to her joke.

Now, she had an ace up her sleeve. But one wasn’t enough. She needed the whole deck.

She quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater, packed the dress away in the closet, and sat down at her laptop. Omari wouldn’t be back for a while, and she planned to use the time well.

The first call was to her father, Camo.

Despite the late hour, he answered immediately.

“Princess, why aren’t you sleeping? It’s your wedding night, and you’re calling me,” he said with a mixture of affection and worry.

“Daddy, I need to talk seriously. Do you remember offering to put your share of the company in my name?”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“Abini, what happened? Did that idiot do something to you?”

“Daddy, nothing has happened yet, but I need a guarantee. Can you come to the notary first thing tomorrow morning?”

“Of course, baby girl. And we’ll transfer your Aunt Clara’s condo into your name too. I already have the paperwork ready.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I’ll explain everything later.”

“No need. The minute I met that Omari, I knew he was an opportunist. And his mother? Forget about it. But you wouldn’t listen to me. You were in love.”

“I wasn’t, Daddy. I wasn’t.”

The next call was to Sila, her best friend and a lawyer.

“Sila, I’m sorry to call you so late. I need a consultation. If a condo is in my name and I bought it before the wedding, does my husband have any right to it?”

“Abini, what’s going on? Are you already thinking about divorce? The wedding was today.”

“Sila, just answer.”

“If you bought it before the wedding and it’s only in your name, it’s separate property. He could only claim something if he could prove he invested money in renovations or improvements. Why are you asking?”

“I’ll explain tomorrow. Can you stop by my place around ten?”

“Of course, girl. Hold tight.”

The door slammed shut downstairs.

Omari was back.

“Aini, where are you, baby girl? I drove halfway across the city looking for you,” he said in a worried voice, though now she could hear the falseness behind it.

She walked down the stairs trying to appear calm.

“Hi, my love. I was just tidying up a little and I changed my clothes.”

Omari hugged and kissed her, and she had to make a huge effort not to pull away.

“Why are you so cold? Are you freezing?”

“I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a heavy day.”

“Heavy? We’re on vacation for two weeks.”

“Yes, but the condo is new. We have to organize it. By the way, your mother was here looking for you.”

“My mother? What for?”

Omari’s voice tightened.

“I don’t know. I was in the shower. I just heard the door. Maybe she left a gift.”

They went to bed and Omari fell asleep right away.

Abini, on the other hand, lay there with her eyes open, planning. She had two weeks of vacation to put everything in order. In that time, she had to gather proof, protect her assets, and teach those scoundrels a lesson they would never forget.

And she knew exactly how to do it.

---

The next morning, Omari woke her with a kiss.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ramos,” he hummed.

She almost corrected him—“It’s Vargas on my passport”—but she stopped herself.

“Good morning. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure, and an omelette if it’s not too much trouble. My mother says you’re a wonderful cook.”

She almost burst out laughing. Yesterday that same mother had told her friend that her daughter-in-law couldn’t cook.

“Of course, sweetheart. Go take your shower. I’ll make breakfast.”

While Omari showered, humming some pop song, she turned on her phone’s recorder and hid it among the spice jars. Then she took a package of pre-made pancakes from the freezer. She heated them in the microwave and served them with whipped cream and jam. She decided not to make the omelette out of principle. He could be satisfied with what he got.

“Wow, pancakes. Did you whip those up so early?” Omari came out of the bathroom in a robe, drying his wet hair.

“Yes, especially for you,” she replied with a smile.

He sat down at the table, took a bite, and frowned.

“They’re weird. A little rubbery.”

“It’s a new recipe. They’re low-fat,” she replied calmly, serving the coffee.

“Oh, well. Hey, I was thinking… what if you include me on the condo paperwork, you know, so I can handle things with the HOA or repairs?”

She took a sip of coffee, deliberately drawing out the pause.

“And why would you need that? I can take care of everything. Or do you think I’m not capable?”

“No, of course you are. But, well, I’m the man, the head of the household.”

“Sure, honey. We’ll talk about it later. I have plans with a friend today.”

“Which friend?”

His tone turned suspicious.

“Sila. You know her. We’ve been meaning to catch up for a long time.”

“Ah, her. That’s fine, but don’t be late. Mom is coming for dinner. Make something delicious.”

She smiled.

“Of course, love. What does your mother like?”

“She eats everything, but put some effort into it. The first impression is important.”

If Omari only knew the impression his mother had already made, he probably would have choked on his pancake. But Abini just nodded.

“Will do.”

As soon as Omari left—supposedly to see his friends, though she was sure he was running to his mother to report on the progress of the divorce plan—she checked her phone. The recording was perfect, clear, especially the part where he talked about being the head of the household and his right to the condo.

At ten, Sila arrived, a freckled redhead with a folder of documents under her arm.

“All right, tell me what dumpster fire we need to put out.”

Abini played the recording from the night before. Sila listened, her eyes widening.

“Good Lord, Abini, this is… this is blatant fraud. We can sue them.”

“We can, but I don’t just want to sue. I want them to learn a lesson forever.”

“Whoa, the lioness has finally come out. I always said you were too nice. Let’s see what we have. A recording of the mother-in-law, another of Omari. The condo is in your name, but he put up the money and has the receipts. Wait a minute. He formally put up the money?”

“Yes, but it was actually mine. Remember the trust fund my dad set up for me when I turned eighteen? It had accumulated a good amount. I gave that money to Omari, supposedly for something shared, but he withdrew it in cash as if it were his and theatrically handed it to the seller right in front of his mother. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought he just wanted to show off for her.”

“And the transfer from your account to his?”

“Of course. It was all done through the bank.”

“Perfect. That’s our smoking gun.

“All right, listen up.”

Sila spread the documents on the table and began to explain the plan.

“First, transfer all your money to accounts Omari doesn’t know about. Second, formalize your stake in your father’s company. Third, gather more evidence. And most importantly, show nothing. Act like the adorable wife until everything is ready.”

The doorbell rang.

Her father had arrived with the notary. Camo looked serene and steady as always in difficult moments.

“Good morning, Sila. Good morning, Abini. I brought Dr. Miller. He’ll take care of everything.”

The notary, a gray-haired man in a crisp suit, placed the documents on the table.

“So, we formalize the donation of forty-nine percent of the shares in Vargas Engineering and the transfer of the property at Republic Avenue 245. Correct?”

She nodded.

“And this other document,” her father added, taking out another folder, “is a power of attorney to administer the remaining fifty-one percent in case of my temporary incapacitation, just in case.”

While the papers were being signed, her father took her aside.

“Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She played the recording for him. He listened in silence, his face hardening with every second.

“The devils,” he muttered finally through gritted teeth.

“Daddy, don’t get involved. I’ll handle this.”

“I know you can do this alone. You’re just like your mother, strong and determined. She’d be proud of you. But if you need anything, I’m right here.”

By nightfall, all the documents were ready. The money had been transferred to new accounts, and she had a plan perfectly mapped out.

All that was left was to execute it.

---

She went to the grocery store to buy what she needed for dinner.

“Zola eats everything. Perfect,” she thought. “She will eat everything.”

She bought chicken giblets for the broth, rice, margarine instead of butter, and, with special pleasure, a can of expired corned beef.

“She says I can’t cook. We’ll see.”

Back at the condo, she got to work. She prepared the broth with lots of bay leaves and peppercorns to make it sharp. The rice she overcooked until it looked like glue. She mixed the canned meat with boiled potato and mayonnaise, creating something that vaguely resembled a tuna salad. And the final gem was a cake made with ladyfingers and a filling of margarine and sugar.

“A work of art,” she said, satisfied.

Omari arrived at seven, and at seven-thirty, Zola appeared, dressed in a new pantsuit, her hair impeccable, wearing expensive perfume.

“Abini, darling,” she exclaimed, blowing a kiss in the air. “How are you two settling in? Happy? Of course you are. And what’s for dinner? I haven’t eaten all day. You know, the diet?”

With an innocent face, Abini began to set the table.

First came the broth. Zola took a sip and immediately coughed.

“What is this?”

“Spices. My grandma’s recipe. She was from the country,” Abini replied, unperturbed.

“Ah, the country. Right.”

Next was the rice cream. The mother-in-law looked at the grayish mass on her plate with obvious repulsion.

“It’s overcooked rice. Very good for digestion.”

“I don’t think so, thank you. I’m dieting.”

She didn’t even touch the salad, claiming an allergy to mayonnaise. And when, with a triumphant air, Abini brought out the cake, Zola stood up from the table.

“You know, I’m feeling a little unwell. Must be the stress from yesterday. Omari, walk me to the car.”

As soon as they left, Abini went to the window. From there, she could see Zola gesticulating furiously, lecturing her son while he tried to justify himself. Finally, the mother-in-law got into her car and drove away.

Omari returned, frowning.

“Abini, what was that?”

“What thing?”

“That dinner. You ruined it on purpose.”

“Why would you say that? I worked so hard.”

“Hard? My mother says they don’t even serve stuff like that in basic training.”

“Excuse me. I didn’t know your mother was so delicate. You said she ate everything.”

“Everything, but not trash.”

“How dare you talk to me like that, Omari? I spent all day cooking.”

A tear escaped her eye. Her college drama classes had not been in vain.

Omari softened instantly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I overreacted. It’s just that my mother is used to a certain standard.”

“I understand now. I won’t cook for your mother again. She can bring her own food if my standard isn’t good enough.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll take you out to a restaurant tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” she murmured and went to their room.

---

The following days unfolded at a strange pace. Omari was clearly following his mother’s instructions. He complained about trifles, demanded an account of the money spent, and insinuated they should register his share in the property.

She pretended to be a hurt but submissive wife while continuing to gather evidence. Her phone, always recording, became her best ally.

One night, she got a gem.

Omari and his friend Malik were drinking beers in the living room. After the third bottle, tongues loosened.

“Imagine, Malik. My old lady set up a plan to take Abini’s condo. Great, right?”

“And is the chick rich or something?” Malik asked.

“Nah, she’s just average, but the condo is in her name, and I put up the money, so in about a year, I get divorced, keep the place, and I’m free as a bird.”

“What if she sues you?”

“Sue me where? Her daddy’s a working stiff without two dimes to rub together for lawyers. My mother and I will eat her alive in two days.”

Sitting in the next room, she smiled.

“Working stiff, you say? We’ll see about that, my love.”

One week later, she decided she had enough evidence.

It was time to act.

The first call was to her mother-in-law.

“Zola, it’s Abini. I wanted to apologize for that dinner. Could you come over tomorrow? I’m going to prepare something special.”

“Oh, Abini? I don’t know…”

“Please. I want to improve our relationship. You’re like a second mother to me.”

That last phrase seemed to flatter Zola.

“Well, all right. I’ll come. But I warn you, I’m very particular about food.”

“Of course. I’ll do my best.”

Then she called Sila.

“Ready for the big day tomorrow?”

“More than ready. I have all the papers and a little gift for your mother-in-law.”

“What gift?”

“You’ll see. It’s going to be a bombshell.”

That night, she told Omari that his mother had accepted the invitation.

“Seriously? Mom’s coming after that dinner?”

“I convinced her. I told her I want us to get along.”

“Very good. That’s the right attitude. Mom loves to be respected.”

“I’ve noticed. Hey, Omari, what if we invite a few more people? Your friends, for example.”

“What for?”

“To make it more lively. A family dinner.”

“Hm. Good idea. I’ll invite Malik and his wife, Talia, and Amare and his wife. Mom will be happy. She likes them.”

---

The next day, she really went all out. She ordered food from a nice catering company, decorated the table carefully, and even bought flowers.

The guests started arriving at seven. First Malik and Talia, then Amare, and finally Zola.

“Oh, this is lovely,” the mother-in-law said, surprised. “Abini, congratulations. Now this is a standard.”

Everyone sat down at the table, and the toasts and compliments began. Zola relaxed and started telling anecdotes about Omari’s childhood.

“Remember, Omari, when you were five and you said you’d only marry a princess?”

“Mom, please.”

“Well, it was a nice wish for a child. Of course, you didn’t get a princess, but Abini is not bad either.”

That “not bad either” hung in the air.

She stood up.

“Friends, I want to propose a toast to our family. May there always be honesty, trust, and love in it.”

Everyone raised their glasses.

“And now,” she continued, “I want to show you something interesting. It’s a recording I made by accident on our wedding day.”

She pulled out her phone and hit play on the audio of Zola talking on the phone.

The room fell into a heavy silence. Only the mother-in-law’s voice came out of the speaker.

“The plan is simple. We get separated without a scandal, and we keep the condo…”

Zola went pale. Omari jumped up.

“Abini, what is that? Where did you get that?”

“Oh, my dearest husband. I was hiding under the bed. I wanted to play a trick on you, but it seems you’re the ones who got the real joke in the end.”

“That—that’s a setup!” Zola screamed. “It’s fake!”

“Really? And is this fake, too?”

She played the recording of Omari talking to Malik. Talia looked at her husband with disgust.

“And that’s not all.”

The doorbell rang.

Sila walked in, a folder in her hand.

“Good evening. I’m attorney Sila Brooks. Zola, this is for you.”

She handed her an envelope.

Zola took it with trembling hands.

“What is this?”

“A criminal complaint. You see, I did a little investigation. It turns out your late husband’s death wasn’t as natural as it seemed. Funny thing, a healthy man suddenly dies of a heart attack one month after his wife puts all the assets in her name. And by the way, there was no autopsy. You insisted on cremation. But I have the testimony of a nurse who saw you inject something into your husband’s IV.”

It was a bluff. A complete bluff. But Zola didn’t know that. She went even paler and collapsed into her chair.

“That’s not true. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill my husband and I didn’t plan to rob my daughter-in-law.”

Omari was paralyzed.

“Mom, is what she’s saying about Dad true?”

“Omari, son, it’s all lies. Your father was sick. And passing everything to my name was for you, so it would all go to you. And the condo with Abini was also for you.”

She walked up to her husband.

“Omari, here are the documents. The transfer from my account to yours. The money you used to pay for the condo—my money. And here’s the tax return for my father, chief engineer at a defense industry firm, with a salary that would make your mother’s eyes pop out.

“And these are the papers for our real condo in downtown Atlanta. Not that dump out in the suburbs your mother went to inspect.

“And you know what else? I could call the police right now and report both of you for fraud, but I won’t.”

“Why?” Omari asked in a low voice.

“Because I’m not like you. I’m going to give you one chance. Zola will stand up right now. She will leave and will never appear in my life or yours again. If I ever see or hear anything about you again, all of this goes straight to the police—and not just for the condo fraud.”

Zola rose, staggering.

“Omari, leave. Let’s go.”

“Go, Mom,” he said in a defeated voice. “Just go.”

The mother-in-law slammed the door on her way out.

The guests were in shock. Talia was the first to react.

“Malik, we’re leaving too. And we’re going to talk at home about your involvement in all of this.”

They left. Amare mumbled an awkward goodbye and disappeared. Only she, Omari, and Sila remained.

“Abini, I—” Omari began.

“Don’t say anything. Just pack your things and go. We’ll file for divorce tomorrow.”

“But couldn’t we try to fix it?”

“Fix what, Omari? That you betrayed me? That you conspired with your mother to rob me? That you thought I was some country bumpkin? No, honey. You don’t fix that.”

Omari silently went to pack his bags. Half an hour later, he was at the door with his suitcase.

“Abini. Seriously, I didn’t want to. It was Mom’s idea.”

“No, Omari. You are a grown man. You made your own choices. Leave.”

He left, and she finally allowed herself to cry.

Sila hugged her.

“You’re incredible, girl. A true warrior.”

“You know, Sila, I loved him. I believed in him.”

“I know. But it’s better to know the truth now than years from now.”

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you for everything.”

---

The divorce was quick and quiet. Omari didn’t claim anything, probably out of fear of a scandal. Zola disappeared. It was said she had gone to live with a sister in Savannah.

She stayed in her condo, licking her wounds and starting anew.

Months passed.

One afternoon she was in a café with Sila, drinking coffee and laughing at some joke, when a tall, broad-shouldered man walked in with honey-colored eyes and an open, kind smile. He went to the counter, ordered a coffee, and at that moment their eyes met. He smiled and nodded. She smiled back.

“What are you thinking about?” Sila nudged her.

“What? Nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. He’s gorgeous.”

The man indeed approached their table.

“Excuse me, ladies, do you mind if I sit here? There are no free tables, and I need to do some work on my laptop.”

“Go right ahead,” Sila replied, kicking her under the table.

He sat down, opened his computer, and she could see blueprints on the screen.

“Are you an engineer?” she asked without thinking.

“Yes, a design engineer.”

“Are you too?”

“Well, by training. Now I work in procurement.”

“Wow, a colleague. My name is Galani.”

“Abini. Nice to meet you.”

They started talking. He told her he had just returned from a long assignment and worked at the same research center where her mother had worked years ago.

Sila, with great discretion, excused herself with an urgent matter, not without winking at her friend first.

They stayed in the café until closing time, talking about work, books, and movies.

“Give me your number. I’d love to continue this conversation,” he said as they left.

She smiled and dictated it to him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“Don’t fall in love, Abini. Don’t take another step. No more naivety,” she repeated to herself, but her heart wouldn’t obey.

---

He kept his word and called her the next day. He invited her to a jazz club. Then came a concert, a walk in Piedmont Park, a dinner at a small cozy restaurant. He was attentive, affectionate, with a great sense of humor, and, most importantly, honest. No games, no masks.

On the third date, she decided to tell him about her failed marriage. He listened carefully without interrupting.

“You know, your ex-husband is a complete fool,” he said at last. “To lose a woman like you for pure greed.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I’m sure of it. Any normal mother-in-law should have been praying for a daughter-in-law like you. Smart, beautiful, independent.”

She blushed.

“Are you exaggerating?”

“Not one bit. And I’ll tell you something else. I’m glad he was an idiot. Otherwise, I never would have met you.”

One month later, he introduced her to his mother, Nala, a sweet, educated woman, a literature professor. Nala welcomed her like a daughter.

“Gelani has told me so much about you. I’m so happy he finally found a woman who’s worth it.”

Over tea, Nala told funny anecdotes from his childhood while he turned red and asked her not to embarrass him. The atmosphere was warm, familiar, and full of tenderness.

One day, while walking in the city at sunset, they ran into Omari. He was with an unknown woman. He looked dejected, thin, and sad. Seeing her on Galani’s arm, he stopped.

“Aini.”

“Hi, Omari. You look well.”

“Thanks. You too.”

It was a lie, but she didn’t want to hurt him.

“I wanted to apologize for everything.”

“No need. That’s all in the past. My mother is gone for good. We have no contact.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

For all the betrayal, losing a mother always hurt.

Omari nodded and continued on his way. His companion was asking him questions and he was answering in monosyllables.

“Your ex?” Galani asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. He’s the past. I have the present and the future.”

She looked at him and smiled. He squeezed her hand.

---

That night, she received a call from her father.

“Princess, how are you?”

“Very well, Daddy.”

“I can hear it in your voice. That Galani of yours is a good man. I looked into him a little.”

“What? Daddy!”

“I have a right to know who my daughter is dating. And the boy is excellent. Good family, hard worker, no vices, and best of all, he looks at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.”

“Daddy, please.”

“I’m just telling the truth. Take care of him, and take care of yourself too.”

Six months later, he proposed without grand gestures or a public spectacle. Simply during a dinner at home, he pulled out a ring and said:

“Aini, marry me. I want to wake up with you every morning. I want to have children who look like you. I want to grow old by your side.”

She laughed and cried at the same time when she said yes.

The wedding was simple, only close friends and family, without luxury or spectacle. Sila was the maid of honor and cried throughout the ceremony.

“I’m so happy for you, girl.”

Her father walked her down the aisle and whispered:

“Your mother would be so proud of you. You’re strong like her.”

Nala wept with happiness as she hugged her new daughter-in-law.

“Welcome to the family, daughter.”

That night, when the guests had left, they sat on the balcony of their condo drinking champagne and looking at the stars.

“You know,” she said, “I think it was all worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That whole story. If it hadn’t happened, I never would have met you.”

“Fate?” he smiled. “I don’t believe in fate. I think we build our own lives.”

“My wise engineer,” she said, smiling. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“Let’s go. But you know what? I’m never hiding under a bed again.”

They laughed and went inside.

---

A year passed. She was in the doctor’s office and couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Congratulations, you are eight weeks pregnant.”

She left the clinic as if in a dream. Pregnant. She and her husband were going to have a baby. She pulled out her phone to call him, but she stopped. That news had to be given in person.

That night, she prepared a special dinner and put on the same dress she wore when he proposed. He arrived tired from work, but seeing the table set and his wife dressed up, he was surprised.

“Did I forget a date? An anniversary?”

“I have good news. Wonderful news.”

She handed him the ultrasound image.

He looked at it for a few seconds, then looked up, incredulous.

“This is real?”

“It’s real.”

He picked her up in his arms and started spinning her around.

“I’m going to be a father, my love. We’re going to be parents.”

The following months flew by. He took care of her as if she were made of glass, satisfying all her cravings. Craving strawberries at three in the morning? He’d race to the other side of the city to find them. Nausea from the smell of coffee? The coffee disappeared from the house. Nala knitted booties and baby clothes, and her father ordered the best crib on the market.

In the seventh month, she ran into Zola in a baby goods store. Her ex-mother-in-law looked aged, tired. Seeing her, she froze. Her gaze dropped to the round belly.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Hello, Zola. Yes. Pregnant by him.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. The new one. The real one.”

“Omari… Omari can’t have children. The doctors told him after the accident when he was young. I dreamt of a miracle, but…”

She fell silent.

“I didn’t know that. So he hid that from me too. Zola, what are you doing here? Do you work at this store?”

“Yes. I’m a clerk. After all that scandal, I was fired. Thanks to your friend, the lawyer, everyone found out. Omari won’t speak to me. I live with my sister. I work where I can.”

She felt a pang of compassion. Yes, this woman had tried to ruin her life, but seeing her like this was punishment enough.

“I’m sorry it ended this way.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite. I know I got what I deserved. But do you know what the worst part was? I lost my son. My only son. He won’t answer my calls. He won’t open the door for me. I don’t even know how he’s living.”

“I saw him about six months ago. He didn’t look well, but he was with a girl.”

“Thank you, at least for that. I know I have no right, but… forgive me. I was blinded by ambition. I wanted the best for my son, and I destroyed his life and mine.”

Tears ran down her face.

She remained silent. Forgive? How do you forgive a betrayal like that?

“Zola, I can’t forgive you, but I don’t blame you either. Everyone makes their own choices and bears the consequences. Yours brought you here. Mine, luckily, led me somewhere else. I wish you well.”

She turned and walked toward the exit.

“Take care of your happiness. Don’t repeat my mistakes,” Zola called after her.

Zola nodded, and she left.

At home, she told her husband everything. He hugged her.

“You did the right thing. There are things you can’t forgive, but you can let go. And you did.”

“You know, I feel bad. She lost everything.”

“And she lost it all by herself. It was her decision. We have another life, other values, and soon a little miracle will arrive. One we’re going to raise with love and honesty.”

The delivery was difficult, but he was by her side the whole time, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement. When the nurse placed that tiny crying being on her chest, she broke down in tears of joy.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced.

“A girl,” he repeated, his voice trembling. “Our girl.”

They named her Nia in honor of her mother.

She grew up cheerful, curious, with her mother’s green eyes and her father’s smile. Grandpa Camo spoiled her with toys and sweets. Grandma Nala read her stories and taught her poems.

When Nia turned three, she became pregnant again. This time, a boy was born—Kai, quiet and thoughtful from day one. Nia welcomed her brother with enthusiasm, becoming his little helper, rocking him solemnly and singing lullabies.

Life was calm and happy. She returned to her job as an engineer. Now both she and her husband worked in the same design office. They left together every morning and returned together every evening. They spent weekends with family or strolling in the park.

---

One day, when Nia was five and Kai was one, they ran into Omari in the park. He was with a boy of about three and his pregnant wife. Seeing her with her family, he approached.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Omari.”

“Are these your children?”

“Ours,” her husband corrected, wrapping an arm around her waist. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? They look like their mother.”

“Thank you. And you have a son too?”

“Yes. And soon we’ll have a girl. This is Tisha, my wife.”

The woman smiled shyly and said hello.

“I’m glad to see you well, Abini. Seriously. I’ve thought a lot about everything that happened. If I could go back in time…”

“No need, Omari. Everyone has their own path. Yours led you to Tisha and your children. Mine to Galani. It had to be this way, I guess.”

“I’ve never been able to forgive my mother. I just can’t. She wrote to me recently. She wants to see me. She says she wants to meet her grandchildren, but I’m not ready.”

“That’s your decision. But remember that children are not to blame for the mistakes of adults. Maybe it’s worth giving them a chance to know their grandmother. Think about it.”

He nodded, said goodbye, and they walked away, each going their separate ways.

“Mom, who was that man?” Nia tugged on her mother’s hand.

“An old acquaintance, my love.”

“Was he sad?”

“Yes, a little bit.”

“We’re not sad, are we?”

“We are happy.”

Her husband picked up his daughter in his arms. She took Kai’s hand and they continued walking—a happy family that had built their joy on honesty, love, and trust.

---

Another five years passed. Nia entered middle school and turned out to be a brilliant student, especially in math. The inheritance from the engineer grandfather was noticeable. Kai became passionate about painting, and his watercolors adorned all the walls of the house. And little Saraphina, barely one year old—the third and surprising but very much awaited daughter—took her first steps, wobbling and falling on her bottom amid everyone’s laughter.

One night, when the children were asleep, she and her husband were in the kitchen drinking tea.

“You know, I was thinking today that ten years have passed since that whole story.”

“What story?”

“My first wedding.”

“Ah, that one. Forget about it. Why stir up the past?”

“It’s not to stir it up. It’s just that if it weren’t for that episode under the bed, none of this would exist—you, the kids, our happiness.”

“You’re getting philosophical,” he joked a little.

“You know, I don’t regret anything. I’m even grateful for the pain. It made me stronger.”

The doorbell rang. It was Sila with a bottle of wine and a cake.

“Am I interrupting?”

“You never interrupt. Come in.”

The three of them sat down and poured the wine.

“What are we toasting to?” he asked.

“To justice,” Sila exclaimed, raising her glass. “Remember that guy who tried to swindle my client? Well, today the judge sided with us completely. And do you know who his lawyer was? Zola.”

“What?”

“The ex-mother-in-law herself. It seems she reinvented herself, but it didn’t help her at all. She lost the case disastrously.”

She became thoughtful. So, Zola had managed to rebuild her life, study, and get a job.

“In a way, she deserves credit,” she said.

“Credit? After everything she did to you?” Sila protested.

“I’m not saying she’s a saint. But she was punished. She lost her son, her position, her money. But she didn’t give up. She started over. That takes guts.”

“You’re a saint, Abi.”

“I’m not a saint. I’m just a happy person. And happy people don’t hold grudges.”

Later, when Sila had left and her husband went to check on the children, she stepped onto the balcony. The city lights glittered and music could be heard in the distance. She thought about the strange path that had led her there. From being a naive young woman, ready for a joke on her wedding night, to becoming a strong woman, mother of three, and a successful professional.

“You’re going to get cold,” he said, putting a blanket over her shoulders and hugging her from behind. “Look, a shooting star. Make a wish.”

She closed her eyes.

Do you make a wish when you already have everything?

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. That if I say it, it won’t come true.”

In reality, she wished that her children would never know betrayal. That their first love story would also be their last. That they would be happy.

But she knew that was impossible. Every person has their own path and their own tests. She could only be there to support and love them.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he proposed.

“Let’s go. But I’m still not getting under the bed.”

They both laughed. It was now their family joke, one that no one understood except the two of them and Sila.

---

The next morning, she woke up to the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Saraphina climbed into bed and snuggled between her parents. Nia and Kai followed.

“Mom, Dad, wake up. It’s Sunday. You said we were going to the zoo.”

He groaned, pulling the sheet over his head.

“Dad, don’t fake it. We know you’re not asleep.”

The children started tickling him, and the room filled with laughter.

During breakfast, Nia suddenly asked:

“Mom, how did you and Dad meet?”

“In a café. Dad asked to sit at our table.”

“How boring.”

“And we talked about engineering projects,” she added.

“How boring, but it was real,” Kai said with surprising maturity. “Real is better than a fairy tale.”

At the zoo, the children ran from one enclosure to another. Saraphina pointed at the animals, babbling invented words. She and her husband walked behind hand in hand.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Immensely. And you?”

“I’m by your side. What more could I need?”

That night, when the tired but happy children were asleep, she turned on her laptop to check work emails. A headline appeared on her news feed.

“Renowned attorney Zola Ramos wins major real estate fraud case.”

She opened the article. The photo showed the same Zola, but different—confident, elegant, professional. The news said she had defended an elderly woman whom some scoundrels tried to steal an apartment from.

“What are you reading?” her husband peered over her shoulder.

“Nothing. Just news.”

“That’s your ex-mother-in-law.”

“Yes. Look, now she defends those who are being defrauded. The irony of fate. Or the forgiveness earned through actions. Perhaps.”

She closed the laptop.

The past was behind her. Every person had their path, their lessons, their own way of redemption. She had learned hers that night under the bed at a wedding that was never consummated. She learned not to trust blindly, to take care of herself, to defend herself, but above all not to lose the capacity to love, to believe in goodness, and to be happy.

Somewhere in a parallel universe, there was an Abini who did not hide under the bed, who never heard her mother-in-law’s conversation, who lived in deception for one or two more years, suffered a painful divorce, and lost faith in people. But in this reality, everything was different. A prank, a single instant under the bed, had changed her destiny.

“What are you thinking about?” her husband asked.

“How strange everything is. How one small moment can change everything. The butterfly effect.”

“Yes. My butterfly was hiding under a bed, and bless that butterfly. Bless her.”

They turned off the light and went to bed. In the next room, the children were breathing calmly. Outside, the city murmured.

Peace reigned in the house. That true peace that only exists in families built on love and trust.

---

The next day, the phone rang. It was her father.

“Princess, I have news.”

“Camo, what is it?”

“Well, Irene from the design office and I are dating.”

She nearly dropped the phone. Her father hadn’t had a partner since her mother died fifteen years ago.

“Daddy, that’s wonderful.”

“Are you really okay with it?”

“Of course. Your mother would have wanted you to be happy.”

“Thank you, honey. Do you mind if I come over with her on Sunday for lunch so she can meet the kids?”

“Perfect.”

Irene turned out to be a charming woman, about fifty-five, with kind eyes and a warm smile. The children looked at her cautiously at first, but she quickly won them over. She gave Nia a children’s engineering kit, Kai a set of professional watercolors, and Saraphina a huge teddy bear.

During lunch, she told funny anecdotes, and soon everyone was laughing.

“Irene’s a legend at the firm,” Camo said proudly. “The only woman head of design.”

“Camo, you exaggerate,” she replied, blushing a little.

“But it’s admirable,” she said. “I know how difficult it is for a woman to stand out among so many men.”

“You’re an engineer too,” Camo told Irene. “Maybe you could come join our team. We have an opening right now.”

“Thank you, but I’m very happy where I am.”

“It’s a shame, but the offer remains open.”

When the guests left, her husband commented:

“Your dad looks happy.”

“Yes. I’m so glad for him. He was alone for too long. Irene is a great woman.”

“She is. And you know what? I was thinking maybe I should consider her proposal. Your dad’s design firm is something serious.”

“Would you like to?”

“I don’t know, but I could try.”

One month later, she joined her father’s team at the firm. The work was demanding but fascinating. Irene became not only her colleague but also her friend and soon after her stepmother. Camo proposed to her and they got married quietly. Only the closest family were present at the wedding. Nia recited a poem. Kai gave them a portrait he had painted of his grandfather and Irene, and little Saraphina carried the rings on a small cushion.

Life continued its course. The children grew. She and her husband worked. They loved each other. Sometimes they argued over trifles, but they always made up.

A simple, normal life.

And in that normalcy, true happiness was hidden—the kind worth fighting for.

---

One day, tidying up the closet, she found her old wedding dress, the one she had hidden under the bed in. She took it out, smoothing the wrinkles.

Nia ran in.

“What a pretty dress. Is it yours, Mom?”

“It was mine.”

“Can I try it on when I’m older?”

“Of course. But I hope you’ll have a new one, your own. And this one isn’t happy.”

“Yes, my love. My happiness started in this dress. Only it started in an unusual way.”

“Will you tell me about it someday?”

“When you’re older.”

She put the dress back in the closet. Let it stay there as a reminder that even from the darkest night you can step out into the light. That a betrayal can become a springboard to happiness. And that sometimes, under the bed, there is not just dust, but also destiny.

---

That night while the whole family was eating dinner, her husband suddenly said:

“We’re all going on vacation together to the beach.”

“Yay!” the children screamed.

“Yes, we are,” she smiled. “But we’ll look for a nice hotel with comfortable beds and nothing hidden underneath them,” he joked, winking at her.

“What kind of secrets are those?” Nia asked curiously.

“Grown-up secrets,” she replied.

“They’re weird,” Kai said thoughtfully. “All grown-ups are weird.”

“That’s true,” her husband nodded and kissed his wife.

Little Saraphina hit the table with her spoon.

“Eat!”

Everyone burst out laughing. An ordinary night in an ordinary family. And in that everyday life, an entire life full of love, trust, and happiness was contained. A life that started with a silly joke and almost ended in betrayal, but that ultimately led her to true love.

And if someone had asked her if she wanted to change anything about her past, she would have answered: nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because every tear, every wound, and every disappointment led her exactly to where she was supposed to be—with her family, with her love.

---

In another corner of the city, Zola was working on a new case, defending a young woman whose husband was trying to defraud her. The story was almost a mirror image: an apartment, false documents, family involved. Zola knew how to face it. Personal experience was the best teacher. She could never redeem herself in front of Abini. But perhaps she was helping other women avoid the same mistake. And in that too, there was justice.

Omari continued with his life, raising his children, working, trying to be a good husband and a good father. Sometimes he remembered that story and was grateful that she had been smarter and stronger than him. She had taught him a harsh but necessary lesson. Thanks to her, he became another man. Honest, decent. His children would never know who he had been before, and that’s how it should be.

The circle closed. Everyone got what they deserved. Everyone followed their path, and only the old mahogany bed—the one she and her husband had left when they moved—kept the secret of that first wedding night that changed several destinies. The new owners of the condo, a young couple, sometimes heard strange creaks under the bed.

“Must be the springs,” he would say.

“Yes, surely,” she would reply.

They didn’t know that under that very bed, a bride hiding in her white dress had discovered a truth that transformed her life. They didn’t know, and they never would. They would have their own story, their secrets, their ghosts in the closet, and their angels under the bed.

And she never hid again. Neither from problems nor from the truth, nor from life. She faced it head on and moved confidently towards new goals, new dreams, a new happiness. She knew for certain that whatever happened, she could overcome it, because she had already done it once—on that first wedding night, when instead of romance, she was met with betrayal. And instead of tears, she chose serenity and victory.

And it was the right choice. The only right choice. The choice of a strong woman who would not let herself be broken or allow her life, her dreams, or her future to be crushed. And life repaid her handsomely—a loving husband, wonderful children, a job she loved, and loyal friends.

Sometimes, very occasionally, she remembered that night, not with pain or resentment, but with gratitude. Strange, perhaps, but if it hadn’t been for that night, this day wouldn’t exist, nor this evening, nor this moment when she sat on her porch watching her children play in the yard, her husband preparing the barbecue, her father and Irene discussing some technical topic animatedly, while Sila arrived with her family carrying a huge cake.

It was Nia’s twelfth birthday.

“Mom, look what Dad gave me!” Nia shouted, running toward her with a box in her hands.

Inside was an advanced, almost professional engineering kit.

“Dad says I’m old enough for this now.”

“Of course you are, my love. You’re a young lady already.”

“Mom, tell me how you met Dad. But the truth, not the café story.”

“Why not the café story? It really was in a café.”

“But that’s boring.”

“You know, Nia, the best stories usually start out boring and then they become magical, like in fairy tales.”

“More like in life.”

Nia ran to show the gift to her grandfather.

She sat watching her large, noisy family. Her husband caught her eye, winked, and blew her a kiss. She smiled.

Yes, her story started in a café, but the real story, the one about her strength, her rebirth, and her decisions, had begun under a bed on her first wedding night. And she thanked life for that lesson, for everything. For the pain that made her stronger, for the betrayal that taught her the value of loyalty, for the loss that led her to gain, for the end that became a beginning.

The sun set, painting the sky in pink and gold tones. The house smelled of baking. Irene had prepared her granddaughter’s favorite éclairs. Kai was painting a portrait of the birthday girl while Saraphina ran with the puppy they had adopted from the shelter and named Leo.

“Abi, come on, let’s cut the cake,” her father called.

She stood up, smoothed her simple, comfortable house dress—not white, not a wedding dress, but the dress of an ordinary day in her extraordinary, marvelous, and authentic life. And as she walked toward her family, she thought:

“Thank you.”

She didn’t know who exactly—fate, God, chance. But thank you for every moment, for every tear, for every smile, for having been that impulsive girl who twelve years ago decided to hide under a bed and changed her life forever.

Because sometimes the most important decisions are made in the least expected moments. Sometimes salvation comes from where you least imagine it. Sometimes under a bed, you don’t find a childhood monster, but a guardian angel who shows you the truth and points you toward the path.

And she followed that path, firm, happy, grateful—towards her family, her love, her life. That life that had begun under the bed on her first wedding night.

Life has a habit of surprising you precisely when everything seems to be in place.

Two years after Nia’s birthday, when she was forty years old and had been married to her husband for fourteen years, something happened that shook her quiet existence.

It all started with a phone call.

She had just finished a complicated project at the design firm when the secretary informed her that a woman wanted to speak to her. She said it was urgent and that it had to do with Omari Ramos.

She frowned. What could have happened?

She picked up the phone.

“Abini, it’s Tisha, Omari’s wife. I’m sorry to bother you, but Omari is in the hospital. He had an accident. The doctors say he needs an urgent operation, and he has a very rare blood type, AB negative. Neither the children nor I have it. I know it’s a lot to ask, but… you wouldn’t happen to be the same type?”

She felt her hands go cold. Indeed, her blood type was AB negative.

“Yes. I am that type. What hospital is he at?”

“He’s at Northside Hospital.”

“I’m coming,” she interrupted. “It’s a matter of life or death.”

She got permission at work and drove straight to the hospital. In the intensive care hallway, Tisha was there, her eyes swollen from crying, with two children by her side—a boy of about nine and a girl of seven. Seeing her, Tisha jumped up.

“Thank you for coming. The doctors are waiting for you.”

She nodded and went to the lab.

While they were drawing blood, she thought about how strange it all was. The man who had once tried to defraud her now depended on her help. And she was doing it not for him, but for those children who didn’t deserve to lose their father.

The operation went well. She wanted to leave, but Tisha stopped her.

“Please stay. I’m scared. I don’t have family here, and my mother-in-law, Zola, is abroad. I can’t reach her.”

She looked at the frightened little ones hugging each other.

“All right. I’ll stay.”

They sat in the hallway drinking vending machine coffee. Tisha began to speak. It turned out that she knew the whole story from day one.

“Omari told me everything. He said he had been an idiot, that he lost the best thing he had, that it took him years to forgive himself. But he met me and everything started to get better. He just never could reconcile with his mother. She tried writing him letters, but he sent them back unread.”

As evening fell, the doctor came out with good news. Omari had woken up. The danger had passed. Tisha broke down in tears of relief. The children hugged her.

She silently stood up to leave, but Tisha stopped her.

“Do you want to see him, please?”

In the room, Omari was pale, connected to tubes and monitors. When he saw her, he tried to smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Tisha told me you gave blood. Saying thank you is… is an understatement. Not an understatement after everything I did.”

“Omari,” she said quietly, “I don’t hold a grudge. You have a beautiful family. Take care of them.”

“I will. And are you happy?”

“Yes. Very happy.”

“I’m glad. Seriously, I’m glad.”

She left the hospital after dark. Her husband was waiting for her in the car. She had told him everything on the phone.

“You did the right thing,” he said, hugging her when she got in. “I’m proud of you.”

“I couldn’t do anything else. There were children involved.”

“Come on, let’s go home. Ours are waiting for you too.”

At home, Nia, who was fourteen and thought she was an adult, received her with crossed arms.

“Mom, is it true you saved a man’s life?”

“Who told you?”

“Dad. That’s incredible. Mom is a hero.”

“No, Nia, I’m not a hero. I just did what I had to do.”

“And who was that man?”

“An old acquaintance.”

“The sad man in the park,” Nia said. Her memory was excellent.

“Yes.”

“And why did you help him if he was sad?”

“Because sometimes you have to help even those who have hurt you. That’s called compassion.”

---

The story with Omari had an unexpected continuation.

One week later, Zola showed up at her office. She had aged a lot, her hair completely gray, her face lined with wrinkles, her gaze tired, but she still stood tall with dignity.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” she asked.

“Good morning, Zola. Please sit down.”

“I came to thank you for Omari. Tisha told me.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve thought a lot about what I did, what I lost all these years. You were right. Everyone makes their own choices. Mine cost me my son. But you didn’t let that choice cost him his life. Thank you.”

Zola stood up to leave, but stopped at the door.

“You know, I now help women who have been defrauded, free of charge. It’s my way of redeeming myself—not to you. I know I won’t earn your forgiveness, but to myself, to God, if He exists.”

“Zola,” she said softly.

She turned around.

“I forgave you a long time ago. Not for you, but for me. Carrying the grudge is too heavy. Go see your son. He’ll be in the hospital for at least a week. Maybe now is the time to talk.”

Zola nodded and left.

Later, Tisha told her that Omari had finally reconciled with his mother. It wasn’t easy or immediate, but the ice began to melt. Zola began to visit her grandchildren, helping with care without imposing, and the children accepted her.

Life continued its course. Nia entered a specialized high school for science and math. She dreamed of being a programmer.

“Mom, engineering is last century. The future is in tech,” she said confidently.

Kai, at twelve, was already participating in art exhibitions. His teacher said he had enormous talent. Saraphina turned eight. She was the spitting image of her mother as a child—just as lively, determined, and with character.

Until one day, Saraphina came home from school crying.

“What’s wrong, my love?” she asked worriedly.

“A girl in my class said I was adopted, that I don’t look like Nia or Kai, and that you picked me up from an orphanage.”

She hugged her tightly.

“Nonsense. You are my daughter, my girl. It’s just that you look like your great-grandmother, my grandma. She also had dark hair and coffee-colored eyes, and the rest of us take after Dad’s side. We’re lighter.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. Do you want me to show you pictures?”

They sat together looking at the family album while she told her stories about her ancestors. Suddenly, Saraphina asked:

“Mom, why don’t you have pictures of your wedding? My friend’s mom showed me hers. They were very pretty.”

She paused. She had thrown away the photos from her first wedding. She barely had any from the second with her husband. There hadn’t been much time.

“You know what? Let’s do a photo shoot. We’ll dress up elegantly like in a wedding and take photos of the whole family.”

“Yes! And Dad will wear a suit. We’ll convince him.”

The idea of a simple photo shoot soon turned into something bigger. Sila proposed:

“What if you have a symbolic wedding just for you and your friends? After all, that time was so simple, without a party.”

Her husband supported the idea.

“Fifteen years together is a good reason.”

The preparations started immediately. Nia took charge of the organization, showing a natural talent. Kai designed the invitations with his drawings, and Saraphina helped her mother choose the dress. They tried on dozens. Camo and Irene took care of the banquet, and Nala helped with the venue’s decor.

One week before the event, she received a letter with no return address. Inside was a photo—her and Omari at their first wedding—and a note.

“I thought you should have this. Not as a memory of the bad, but as a symbol of the path you have traveled. With respect.”

She looked at the photo for a long time. A young girl in white smiling at the camera, not imagining what awaited her a few hours later. Naive, trusting, in love.

She smiled too and put the photo in the album without throwing it away, but also without showing it to her husband. It was her story, her past, her path.

---

The day of the symbolic wedding dawned radiantly. September offered warm sun. They decided to have the ceremony in Piedmont Park, where they often walked with the children. Family and friends gathered, about fifty people.

She wore a simple, elegant white dress fitted to her body—nothing as pompous as the first one. Her husband, in a light-colored suit, looked like he’d stepped out of a movie. The officiant was her own father.

“Dear friends,” he said with an emotional voice, “today we celebrate that fifteen years ago, my daughter made the best decision of her life. She chose Galani. And he made a wonderful mistake. He chose my daughter. Quirks and all.”

Everyone laughed.

“But seriously, looking at you, I understand what true love is. It’s not just romance or passion. It’s daily work, respect, mutual support. It’s knowing that no matter what happens, there’s someone by your side who won’t betray you or abandon you. Looking at you and your children, I know you have built what many only dream of—a true family.”

“Kiss!” everyone shouted.

They kissed amid applause. Nia took photos with her professional camera, her new passion for a year. Kai sketched the scene in his notebook. Saraphina ran among the guests saying her mother was the most beautiful bride in the world.

Sila gave a moving speech.

“I have seen Abi’s whole story from the beginning. She has always been a fighter, a force of nature, but with Galani, she has also become a happy woman, and that is golden.”

Nala read a poem of her own composition that no one knew she wrote. Irene sang a romantic bolero with a beautiful voice. Even colleagues from the firm presented a funny slideshow titled “Engineering Love: The Calculation and Structure of a Perfect Family.”

As evening fell, when the sun tinted everything golden, her husband took the microphone.

“I’m not a speaker, you know that, but I want to say something. Fifteen years ago you said yes. That was the best day of my life. Every day with you has been a gift. You have given me three wonderful children. You have made me better, stronger, wiser. I don’t know what awaits us, but I know that whatever happens, we will face it together. I love you.”

She couldn’t hold back the tears. They were tears of pure happiness. She took the microphone.

“Thank you for arriving just when I was ready to find you. For teaching me what true love is—no games, no lies. Thank you for our children, for every shared day, for never judging my past, for accepting me with all my scars. I love you more than my life.”

They danced their “second first dance” to the song that was playing that day in the café where they met. The guests surrounded them. Many were crying. The children looked at their parents with pride and tenderness.

“And now, a surprise,” Nia announced.

The three children went up to the small makeshift stage. Nia sat at the keyboard—she had been taking classes in secret. Kai picked up the guitar, and Saraphina stood in front of the microphone.

“We prepared a gift,” Saraphina said with a serious voice.

They started playing and singing a simple song about family, love, and home. Her voice was clear and strong. Nia accompanied her confidently, and Kai followed with soft harmonies.

She and her husband hugged while listening.

“We did a good job,” he whispered.

“An excellent job,” she replied.

After the party, life returned to its usual rhythm. But something had changed. That symbolic ceremony seemed to strengthen them, giving them new energy.

She received a promotion, becoming the head of design. Her husband took over the direction of a new project. The children continued to fill the house with pride and joy.

---

But life, as always, brought tests.

Six months after the celebration, Camo was hospitalized. Heart problems. She spent nights by his bedside. Irene never left him. The operation was complicated but went well. When he regained consciousness, the first thing he said was:

“I still have to see my grandchildren grow up.”

The recovery was slow. She asked for vacation to help Irene with the care. The children visited him every day. Nia read him scientific articles. Kai drew his portraits. Saraphina talked non-stop, making him laugh.

“You know,” her father told her one day, “I thought after your mother, I couldn’t be happy again. But I was. Irene, you, the children, the grandchildren. Life goes on, even when you think it’s over.”

“Daddy, you’re going to live for a hundred more years.”

“Not a hundred, but I’ll try to last long enough. I want to hold my great-grandchildren.”

“Dad, what are you talking about? Nia is already seventeen. Suitors will start appearing soon.”

“She’s focused on studying.”

“One thing doesn’t preclude the other.”

And it was true. Suitors started appearing—tall, slender, intelligent. Nia attracted attention wherever she went. But she was serious, more so than was usual for her age.

“Mom, these boys are so immature. What was Dad like at their age?”

“Your father was thirty when we met.”

“And at eighteen?”

“I don’t know. Ask Grandma Nala.”

It turned out that he at eighteen was an incurable romantic. He wrote poems and dreamed of being an archaeologist.

“See?” Nia said. “And these guys only talk about cars and video games.”

Her first serious love came in college. She had entered Georgia Tech for applied mathematics. The boy’s name was Quentyn. He was two years older, responsible, and focused. She brought him home to introduce him, dying of nerves. Her father gave him a real interrogation. But the boy held his own.

“He seems like a good kid,” he ruled in the end. “But I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Kai, at fifteen, had other priorities. Art. He had been accepted to the Savannah College of Art and Design. His talent was undeniable, and his professors predicted a great future for him.

“Mom, can I go to that workshop in Italy? Maestro Silva will be there. He almost never accepts students.”

They let him go, though with heavy hearts.

Saraphina, at eleven, discovered her gift for music. She had a natural voice and perfect pitch. They enrolled her in a music school, and she soon became their star student.

“Mom, I’m going to be a singer. Like Beyoncé.”

“Finish school first.”

“School is a bore.”

“A necessary bore.”

---

One autumn evening, while the whole family was having dinner—Nia had come from the student residence, Kai had just returned from his trip—the doorbell rang. She went to open it.

At the door was a young woman of about twenty-five, very similar to Omari.

“Are you Abi?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“My name is Kiana. I’m… I’m Omari Ramos’s daughter from his first marriage.”

She froze. Omari had never mentioned a first marriage.

“Please come in,” she said automatically.

In the living room, the young woman told her story. Omari had married at twenty and divorced a year later without knowing his wife was pregnant. She moved to another city, remarried, and Kiana grew up believing her stepfather was her real father. Only after his death did her mother tell her the truth.

“I found my father, Omari. We met. He was surprised, but he accepted me. He introduced me to his family. Tisha and the kids were very kind. And then… then he told me about you. He said you saved his life. That if it weren’t for what happened between you two, he never would have changed. I wanted to meet you and thank you.”

Her husband watched cautiously, but she smiled.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Over tea, they chatted at length. Kiana was a pediatrician. She worked at a children’s hospital. Intelligent, cultured, with a sparkling sense of humor. Saraphina immediately took to her, full of curiosity about medicine and children.

“Do you mind if I visit sometimes?” Kiana asked.

“Of course not. Come whenever you want.”

Over time, Kiana started coming more often. She became friends with Nia—they had a lot in common. She helped Kai with anatomy for his drawings and even gave Saraphina singing tips. She had sung in the university choir.

Little by little, she became almost part of the family.

One day, she arrived accompanied by a young man.

“I’d like you to meet Sergio, my friend.”

The friend was a surgeon at the same hospital—friendly, cheerful, with a charming sense of humor. At dinner, he told medical anecdotes, making everyone laugh. Kai immediately hit it off with him. Sergio also drew in his spare time.

“You know,” Sergio said goodbye, “I’ve heard so much about you from Kiana. She says you’re the perfect example of a family. And she’s right. Thank you for welcoming her this way. It means a lot to her.”

---

In the spring, great news arrived. Kai won an international competition for young artists. The prize: a residency in Paris.

“Mom, Dad, it’s my dream,” he said excitedly.

Of course, they let him go, though with heavy hearts. They all went to the airport to see him off. He hugged his mother tightly.

“Don’t cry, Mom. I’m not leaving forever.”

“I know, son. But you’re my first little bird flying so far.”

“I’ll be back, Mom. My home is here.”

Without Kai, the house seemed empty. Although Saraphina continued to fill it with laughter, and Nia came home on weekends, something was missing. She found herself preparing her son’s favorite dishes even when he wasn’t there. Her husband missed him too, though he concealed it.

Her refuge was work. She was appointed director of a major project—the design of a new system for a space station. It was a demanding and fascinating task, and she immersed herself completely in calculations, blueprints, and tests.

One night, staying late, she heard sobs in the adjacent lab. It was Carla, a young technician.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Through tears, Carla explained that her fiancé, whom she was about to marry, had cheated on her and taken another woman to their apartment. She was left without a home and without hope.

“Stop crying,” Abi said firmly. “Tears don’t solve anything. I have a spare room—Kai’s room. You’ll stay there for now, and then we’ll see.”

Carla looked at her as if she were an angel.

“But how?”

“No buts. Collect your things. Let’s go.”

Her husband received the new tenant calmly.

“Saving someone again, huh?”

“And what did you want me to do? Leave the girl on the street?”

Saraphina was delighted. Finally, she had someone to talk to about girl things. Carla turned out to be an excellent guest. She helped around the house, taught Saraphina better English, and made delicious cakes.

“Abi, how did you meet your husband?” she asked one night.

She smiled and told her the story of the café, the blueprints, and how she had been afraid to trust in love again after a betrayal.

“And your first husband?” Carla asked cautiously.

“That’s another story. A long one, with a moral. I’ll tell you someday.”

But she didn’t have to. One week later, Carla’s ex-fiancé showed up at the engineering firm begging for forgiveness. He put on a show with flowers and knelt in front of everyone. Carla was paralyzed and Abi intervened.

“Young man, what kind of drama is this?”

“I love Carla. I was an idiot.”

“You were, and you still are. Carla, do you want to talk to him?”

The girl shook her head.

“Well, this is over. Disappear before I call security.”

The guy left but started waiting for her in front of the building every day. Her husband had to have a man-to-man conversation. After that, the ex disappeared forever.

One month later, Carla met Miguel, a programmer from the department next door. Quiet, smart, wearing glasses—the complete opposite of the former—but he looked at Carla as if she were a goddess.

Abi blessed that relationship. One year later, they got married. Carla came to Abi’s house with tears in her eyes.

“If it weren’t for you, I never would have met Miguel. You’re my fairy godmother.”

“I’m no fairy,” Abi replied tenderly. “I was just there at the right time.”

---

Kai returned from Paris, more mature, with a beard that smelled of paint and turpentine.

“Mom, it’s incredible there. But you know what? There’s no place like home.”

He brought gifts for everyone—paintings he had done there, including a family portrait done from memory that they hung in the living room.

Nia graduated with honors and received several job offers. She chose a research center.

“I want to do science, not design websites.”

Quentyn proposed to her at the graduation party. She said yes, but they decided to postpone the wedding for a year to get settled first.

Saraphina turned fourteen and blossomed—tall, beautiful, the ugly duckling who turned into a swan. Boys started noticing her, but she only thought about music.

“Mom, I’ve been invited to a competition in Vienna.”

“It’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic. But pass your physics exam first.”

“Mom…”

“No moms. Travel is necessary, but school first.”

They traveled together to Vienna. Abi requested vacation time. The city dazzled them with its beauty. Saraphina sang in the legendary Musikverein, where Pavarotti once performed. Her voice was pure and powerful. The audience fell silent. When she finished, the ovation lasted five minutes. First prize and an invitation to study at the Vienna Conservatory.

“Mom, it’s my big chance.”

“I know, my love, but you’re still too young to live alone in another country. We’ll talk when you’re eighteen.”

She got a little angry, but soon got over it. Her first crush was waiting for her back at school.

---

Life continued its course. She and her husband worked. The children grew. The parents aged.

After his illness, Camo had become a philosopher. He could talk for hours about the meaning of life.

“You know, I’ve realized the essential thing,” he said. “Family is everything. Work, money, success—all that is secondary. The important thing is to have your loved ones close and healthy.”

Nala, on the other hand, began to weaken. Sometimes she forgot things, got confused. The doctor said it was old age. Her husband was heartbroken and Abi supported him as best she could. They brought Nala to live with them and prepared a room for her. The children surrounded her with affection. Saraphina sang her songs. Kai drew her portraits. Nia read aloud to her.

One day, sitting in her armchair, Nala said in a clear, serene voice:

“Abi, thank you—for my son, for the grandchildren. I’m at peace because I know he’s in good hands.”

A week later, she passed away peacefully in her sleep.

The funeral was on a quiet autumn day. Her husband remained strong, but Abi saw his pain.

Returning from the cemetery, he said:

“You know, Mom always said that life continues, even when it seems like everything is ending. She was a wise woman.”

“She was. And she lives on in our children, in their talents, in their hearts.”

“Yes. Saraphina inherited her musical ear. Kai, her artistic sensitivity. Nia, her analytical mind. And you inherited her kindness and her wisdom.”

“Thank you, love.”

---

Life indeed continued.

Nia married Quentyn. The wedding was beautiful and emotional. Her father walked her down the aisle, holding back tears.

“Dad, don’t cry.”

“It’s tears of happiness, sweetheart.”

Abi next to her husband felt immense emotion. Her girl had grown up, had become a woman.

The wedding brought together many guests. Even Omari came with Tisha and their children. Nia also invited Kiana, who brought her family. Omari approached Abi.

“Your daughter is gorgeous. Just like you were at her age.”

“Thank you.”

“I wanted to tell you—thank you for Kiana. She told me how you welcomed her. That’s worth more than you can imagine.”

“Omari, the past is behind us. We all have a present. Let’s live it.”

Zola also arrived. She was aged but still maintained her dignified bearing.

“Abi, congratulations. You have a wonderful daughter.”

“Thank you, Zola.”

“I wanted to give you something. Take this.”

She handed her an envelope. Inside was a check for an amount sufficient for a down payment on a condo.

“Zola, this is too much.”

“No, it’s a small part of what I owe you. Accept it. It’s for the young couple.”

Nia and Quentyn left on their honeymoon. Kai received a very special commission to paint the murals of a church, a great honor for such a young artist. Saraphina prepared for her final exams and at the same time for entry to the conservatory. She decided to try for the one in Atlanta to be closer to home.

And then Abi discovered she was pregnant again. At forty-five. A little late, but the doctors assured her everything was fine.

Her husband was in shock.

“But how?”

“As always,” she laughed. “Do you want to?”

“And you?”

“Yes, I do.”

The children reacted in different ways. Nia was happy.

“Mom, that’s incredible. I’m going to have a little brother or sister.”

Kai commented with excitement:

“It’ll be interesting to do a portrait with a baby.”

Saraphina was scandalized.

“Mom, that’s embarrassing. At your age.”

“Okay, okay. But let it be a girl. I don’t understand boys.”

The pregnancy was difficult. Abi had to rest and quit work, but she didn’t regret it. It was another opportunity, another miracle. Her husband cared for her like a queen, and the children helped with everything.

A girl was born. They named her Sana, in honor of her best friend Sila.

Tiny, fragile, but with a cry so loud it made everyone laugh.

“She’s got character,” the nurse said.

Nia came to help with the baby. She herself already had a pregnant belly.

“Continuity of generations,” Abi joked.

When Sana turned one, they organized a big family party. Everyone came—relatives, friends, even Carla and Miguel with their newborn. Kiana and Sergio announced their engagement. Saraphina sang a song for her little sister and Kai gave her a painting titled “Sana with Angel Wings.”

During dinner, Camo raised his glass.

“I toast to continuity. May our family never fall apart. May our great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren gather around a table like this years from now and remember us fondly.”

Abi looked at everyone around her and thought:

“This is happiness. Not wealth, not success, but this. A large family. People you love and who love you.”

And it all started with that silly joke that day she hid under a bed.

---

That night, when the guests had left, the children were asleep, and little Sana was breathing softly in her crib, she and her husband sat on the patio.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Happy,” she replied.

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t hidden under the bed.”

“Don’t think about that. Everything happened as it was supposed to.”

“Yes, perhaps. But it’s still strange. Such a small decision, an impulse of a few seconds, and it changes an entire life.”

“They call that destiny.”

“I don’t believe in destiny. I believe we build our own lives.”

“Stubborn as ever.”

“Well, let’s say we did build it ourselves. And it didn’t turn out so bad, did it?”

“It turned out perfectly.”

They stayed hugged, looking at the stars. A dog barked in the distance. The traffic noise was muffled. The world kept turning, but peace reigned in their home. She knew that no matter what happened, she had the most important thing—her family, her love, her home.

And yes, she never hid under a bed again—only sometimes when playing hide-and-seek with the children. But that was a different story.

---

Three years passed. Little Sana became a lively four-year-old, just like Saraphina when she was small—determined, with a strong character.

Saraphina finished the conservatory and was accepted into the Metropolitan Opera chorus. Not yet as a soloist, but still—the Met.

“Mom, this is just the beginning. In a few years, I’ll be a soloist.”

“I don’t doubt it, daughter.”

Nia and Quentyn had a son they named Camo, after the great-grandfather. Old Camo was over the moon.

“My namesake. Irene, look at him. He looks just like me.”

“All babies look alike, Camo,” she said, laughing. “But yes, he’s beautiful.”

Kai, to everyone’s surprise, fell in love. And not with an artist or a muse, as many expected, but with a nuclear physicist—Amara, a serious girl with glasses, capable of talking for hours about quantum mechanics. They met in a café. He was drawing. She was solving equations.

“Mom, she’s incredible. She sees beauty in the formulas and also in my paintings. She says my paintings are the visualization of the harmony of the universe.”

“Then she is undoubtedly your soulmate.”

---

One Tuesday, Abi received a call from the hospital.

“Mrs. Abini, Mrs. Zola Ramos is asking to see you. She doesn’t have much time left.”

Abi remained silent.

Go, after everything?

But she remembered the eyes of that woman at the symbolic wedding, her sincere attempt at redemption, and she decided to go.

Zola was in a palliative care room, very thin, her face yellowish, cancer—terminal stage. Seeing her, she tried to smile.

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t think you would.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“Two weeks, maybe three. I need to tell you something and give you this.”

She pointed to a folder on the bedside table. Inside were documents—a will in which Zola left all her assets to an orphanage—and a letter.

“This is for you. Read it later. Not now. And one more thing. Omari doesn’t know I’m here. Don’t tell him. He’s just putting his life back together. I don’t want to destroy it again.”

“Zola, he’s your son. He has a right to know.”

“I know, but I don’t have the right to cause him any more pain. I hurt him enough. And you too.”

Abi sat next to the dying woman’s bed and thought about how strange life is. Once this woman had wanted to destroy her, and now she was here alone. And the only one who had come to see her was Abi.

“I’m going to call Omari,” Abi said softly. “I won’t tell him you asked me to. But let him decide whether to come or not.”

Omari arrived an hour later. He was more aged, with gray hair at his temples, but he still maintained his bearing. He entered the room, looked at his mother, and his face broke.

“Mom.”

“Omari, son, forgive me. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why?”

He sat beside her and took her hand. Abi discreetly left.

In the hallway, Tisha and Omari’s children were waiting.

“Thank you for calling. I never would have forgiven myself if I didn’t get here in time,” Tisha said.

They drank vending machine tea. Omari’s children, now teenagers, talked in low voices. Then Kiana and Sergio arrived.

“Dad told us about Grandma. We came as soon as we could.”

Zola died a week later. She managed to talk to all her grandchildren, ask Tisha for forgiveness, and give her blessing to Kiana and Sergio for their wedding. To Omari she said:

“I’m proud of you, son. You’ve become a real man. Not thanks to me, but in spite of me. And that’s good.”

The funeral brought together many people. After all, in recent years, Zola had helped dozens of women, defending them pro bono in court. Grateful clients came, colleagues, even judges she had worked with.

Abi stayed on the sidelines, but Omari approached her.

“Thank you for everything. You gave me the chance to say goodbye to my mother and forgive her. That is priceless.”

---

At home, Abi opened Zola’s letter. The handwriting was shaky, clearly written by a sick hand.

“Dear Abi,

I allow myself to call you dear, even though I don’t have that right. Without knowing it, you became my greatest teacher. You gave me a lesson in strength, dignity, and the power of forgiveness. I have spent the last years trying to redeem the wrong I did to you—not to earn your forgiveness, I don’t deserve it—but for my own soul, to leave this world having done at least a little good.

Thank you for Omari. You gave me back my son when you called him. Thank you for teaching me what a true woman is like—strong but not cruel, intelligent but not manipulative, loving but not blind. I saw your family at that wedding. It is a beautiful family. Take care of it.

And if someday your children ask you about your first marriage, tell them the truth. Let them know that even from the darkest night, you can step out into the light. You have proven it.

With respect and gratitude,
Zola Ramos.”

Abi folded the letter carefully and put it in a drawer. Maybe someday she would show it to her children, but not now.

For now, she had another concern. Little Sana had caught the chickenpox and the whole house was in a commotion.

“Mom, I’m itchy,” the girl complained.

“Don’t scratch, my love.”

“But I’m itchy!”

Abi put ointment on her, told her stories, and sang her songs. Her husband came home from work at noon to see his two girls.

“Dad, I’m all green—but gorgeous.”

“You look like a frog princess.”

“I’m not a frog.”

“Of course not. You’re a princess. A green princess.”

Nia brought her son Camo every weekend. The boy could spend hours building blocks or looking at picture books.

“Mom, he’s just like Grandpa Camo. So focused.”

“And that’s good. Let him grow up smart.”

---

One Sunday during the family dinner—a tradition that Nala had started—Saraphina announced news.

“I’m going to have my first solo concert in the small hall of the conservatory.”

Everyone applauded.

“Daughter, that’s wonderful,” her father exclaimed. “When is it?”

“In two months. And guess what else? I want to sing a song I wrote myself about our family.”

The preparations began right away. Saraphina rehearsed at home and her voice filled every corner. Even little Sana accompanied her, making up words. Kai designed the poster. Nia took care of the organization. Abi sewed the concert dress. Saraphina didn’t want a store-bought one, but one made by her mother.

One week before the event, a call came from France. An important gallery wanted to buy a series of Kai’s paintings—Parisian landscapes. The sum was impressive.

“Mom, this is a fortune.”

“You deserve it, son. They recognized your talent.”

“I want to donate a part to the orphanage Zola left her inheritance to.”

“Are you sure, Kai?”

“Yes. It’s the right thing to do.”

---

On the day of the concert, the hall was packed. Family, friends, colleagues, even Carla and Miguel with their two children. Kiana and Sergio, already married, were there. Omari and his family sat in the back row. Saraphina herself had invited them through Kiana.

She went on stage in the dark blue dress her mother had made, embroidered with silver threads like stars. The audience fell silent. She started with classical pieces, romances. Her voice was pure and powerful, filling the souls of everyone present.

“The next song I wrote myself,” Saraphina said with a trembling but firm voice. “It’s about my family. About how family isn’t always just blood. It’s about the people you love and who love you. Those who accept you as you are. Those who are with you in joy and in sorrow. This song is for my parents, who taught me what true love is. For my siblings, each one unique and unrepeatable. And for everyone who has become part of our big family, by blood or by choice.”

She started to sing. The song was simple but deeply moving. It spoke of a home where you are always waited for, of a mother’s hands that heal all wounds, of a father’s smile that gives strength to continue, of the importance of knowing how to forgive and move forward.

Abi cried without trying to hide it. Her husband squeezed her hand. Even little Sana was silent, mesmerized by her sister’s voice.

When the song ended, the audience erupted in applause. Everyone stood up. Saraphina bowed, smiled, and suddenly said:

“Mom, Dad, come up on stage.”

Abi and her husband looked at each other, confused, but their children literally pushed them forward. They stood there hand in hand while Saraphina hugged them and the audience continued to applaud.

After the concert, there was a small reception. Everyone congratulated Saraphina, praised her, gave her flowers. A famous producer approached her.

“Girl, are you ready for the big stage? I can arrange a tour across the country for you.”

She looked at him and then looked for her parents’ eyes.

“Thank you. But first, I want experience here at home. The big stage isn’t going anywhere.”

Camo, leaning on his cane, approached his granddaughter with watery eyes.

“Saraphina, I am very proud of you. Your great-grandmother, my mother, also sang. Not professionally, but she had a beautiful voice. You get it from her.”

“Tell me about her, Grandpa.”

And he told her the story of a woman who was a nurse in the war, who sang to the wounded in hospitals, who believed that a song could heal the soul.

---

That night, when the guests left, the family sat at home drinking tea and talking about the concert. Then Nia said:

“Mom, tell us about your first marriage. The truth. We’re adults now.”

Abi looked at her husband and he nodded.

She told them everything. How she wanted to play a prank and hid under the bed. How she heard her mother-in-law’s conversation, Omari’s betrayal, the revenge, and the forgiveness.

The children listened with open mouths.

“Mom, so that Omari man was your first husband?” Kai asked.

“Yes.”

“And you forgave him after all that?”

“Yes. It’s not worth holding a grudge.”

“Mom, you’re a hero,” Saraphina said. “I couldn’t have done it.”

“Of course you could have. You are my children. You are strong too.”

“And Dad knew?” Nia asked.

“From day one,” her husband replied. “Your mother was honest with me, and I loved her for that—for her honesty and her strength. Not every woman would be capable of going through something like that without breaking, without becoming bitter, while still retaining the capacity to love.”

Little Sana, dozing on the sofa, suddenly lifted her head.

“And why did Mom hide under the bed?”

Everyone laughed.

“She wanted to play a trick on your uncle,” Abi explained.

“What a silly trick,” the girl said seriously. “Under the bed is dusty and dark. I wouldn’t do it.”

“And you’re right. You shouldn’t hide from anything or anyone.”

---

Another year passed. Abi turned fifty.

“Half a century. How awful,” she said.

“Mom, we have to celebrate,” Saraphina was scandalized.

“I don’t want big parties.”

“Then we’ll all go somewhere together—to the beach.”

Everyone loved the idea. They chose a quiet spot on the Gulf Coast and rented a large house facing the sea. Everyone went, even Camo and Irene, although the doctors didn’t recommend traveling far.

“I haven’t seen the sea in ten years. I’m going,” Camo insisted.

The two weeks by the sea flew by. They swam, sunbathed, and played volleyball. At night, they made bonfires, sang with Kai’s guitar, and told stories. Sana built sand castles with Grandpa Camo. Little Camo took his first steps in the sand, fell, and laughed heartily.

On the last night, they organized a big festive dinner. Her husband raised his glass.

“To my beloved wife. Fifty is not an age; it’s experience. You get more beautiful and wiser every day. Thank you for these twenty-five years together, for our children, for being who you are.”

Camo added:

“And as a father, I’ll say this: Abi has exceeded all my expectations. You’re not just my daughter. You’re my friend, my support. Your mother would be very proud of you.”

Everyone toasted, and then Nia stood up.

“I also have news. We are expecting our second child.”

There was applause, hugs, and tears of joy.

“Now that’s a birthday gift,” Abi laughed.

And suddenly Saraphina said:

“I have more news. I’ve been invited to La Scala for a scholarship.”

It was a bombshell. La Scala—the dream of any opera singer.

“Abi, that’s incredible,” her husband said. “How long?”

“I’m leaving in one month for six months.”

Kai didn’t lag behind.

“I’ve been offered a commission to paint a chapel in New Orleans. It’s a great honor and a lot of work, at least a couple of years.”

“You decided to give us all the news on the same day,” her husband joked.

“And why not? It’s a special day.”

---

That night, Abi couldn’t sleep. She went out to the seashore. The moon illuminated a silver path on the water. She thought about the years lived, about everything that had happened.

Her husband approached and hugged her from behind.

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’m thinking about how fast time goes by. It seems like only yesterday Nia was going to elementary school, and now she’s expecting her second baby.”

“That’s life. Children grow and we grow old.”

“Don’t you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Having crossed paths with me—with all my baggage?”

“My love, your past made you who you are. And I fell in love with exactly that—your strength, your wisdom, your truth. I thank fate every day I spend with you.”

They stayed hugged, looking at the sea. Seagulls cried in the distance.

“You know, my mother was right,” she said. “She always said, ‘Don’t fear difficulties, because they make you stronger. Every test is a lesson, and if you learn it, life will reward you.’”

“She was a wise woman.”

“Yes. It’s a shame she didn’t see all of this. Our children, our grandchildren.”

“She sees it, I’m sure. She watches over us from wherever she is and is happy.”

---

They returned home tanned, rested, and full of plans. Saraphina prepared for her trip to Italy. Kai for his work in New Orleans. Nia decorated the new baby’s room. Life was bustling.

And then the terrible thing happened.

Camo was hospitalized. A stroke. Abi never left his side. The doctors fought, but in the end, when he regained consciousness, he could see his daughter and smile at her.

“Abi, I’m proud of you. Live. Be happy.”

And he left.

They buried him on a rainy October day. Many colleagues and friends came, everyone who had loved and respected him. Abi remained strong, but at home, when everyone left, she broke down in tears. Her husband hugged her. The children surrounded her. Little Sana stroked her hair.

“Don’t cry, Mommy. Grandpa is an angel now.”

Irene was left completely alone. She had no children of her own. Abi approached her.

“Irene, you’re not a stranger. Daddy loved you. Stay with us.”

Irene accepted and a new grandmother officially appeared in the house.

Life gradually returned to its course. Saraphina went to Italy and sent letters full of emotion. Kai immersed himself in painting the chapel. Nia had a girl.

“Mom, look. She looks like you.”

“All babies look alike,” Abi smiled, remembering Irene’s words.

Sometime later, a letter arrived from the notary. Camo had left a will. His assets, not small, were divided between his daughter and his grandchildren. But there was a special clause—a fund named after his wife, Nia, to help young women engineers.

“Daddy,” Abi whispered, crying over the documents.

Even after his death, he continued to care for his family and honor the memory of the woman he loved.

---

On New Year’s Eve, Saraphina returned from Italy, radiant and full of stories.

“Mom, it’s incredible there. But you know what? There’s no place like home.”

At the New Year’s Eve dinner, the whole family gathered. They toasted Camo’s memory, to new life, to little Sana, and to the future. And when the clock struck twelve, Abi made a wish—that everyone would be healthy and happy.

A simple wish, but the most important one.

She looked at her family, her husband, her children, her grandchildren, Irene—who was already part of them—and she understood that despite the losses and the pain, she was happy. Truly happy.

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See you in the next life story, with love and respect.On my wedding night, I hid under the bed planning to surprise my husband, but the person who walked into the room was another woman, who set her phone on speaker and unknowingly revealed things that made me realize I had barely understood my own marriage, and in that moment I knew everything had just taken a very different turn.