I kept going in circles in my car, not knowing who should I confide in. I make my way down the narrow streets. In less than five minutes, I am turning to a corner. I stood in front of Mrs Chamberlain's house. I wanted to get in but I couldn't not after disappearing for four years. My heart rattles in my chest. Images of me running in that garden as a little girl and grandma scolding me to come inside invaded into my headspace. I cradle my head in my hands.

My heart is still racing, even faster now. After I talked to the security guard and asked where was my grandmother and aunt, he said they were fired after my grandmother's death.

My head couldn't grasp the information, and my heart seemed to break in pieces in more ways than one. I didn't know where to go or who to look for as I look into the rare view of the mirror window in the car to find that my father's car is tailing us.

Oh Ya Allah, please help me.

I went to the only place I remembered clearly—my aunt's cafe. At two in the morning, I doubted finding anyone there, but I had no one to go to as I looked toward the two girls asleep in the back seat.

I step out of the car when I arrive at my aunt's cafe and find the light's opened and my aunts inside.

My aunt Seren emerges from the cafe shop. I look toward my father, who steps out of his car—my heart is in my throat.

I froze as I look at my aunt after almost four years of not talking to them, "Take your daughter and leave." Aunt Seren demanded as she spoke to my father.

"Come on," Diab said to me.

"Please," I begged my aunt, but she shoved me away.

"Why so hostile ?" Father asked my aunt.

"My mother refused your money on her death bed, Muhammad, just like Mama Ghada never forgave you, we will never forgive you." She spoke to my father and then looked at me, "and you, you refused to obey her wishes and come visit her one last time, and now you are standing here waiting for us to let you in,"

My heart races, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out, I wanted to say I didn't know, I wanted to cry and to shout but I couldn't.

I stood there like a fool being manipulated as people wished. When I hear a voice, I was brought back to my current situation.

"Mama," A soft voice spoke.

I left the place I stood in and went inside the car quickly as I drove the car faster than usual. Praying, he doesn't follow me.

I went into the high open road as I kept driving for hours with no destination in mind as I finally stopped in front of the motel at 7 am. This was the only thing I can afford, but I didn't dare to go inside. I slept in the car.

*****

At two in the afternoon before my meeting with the professor in the restaurant. I wait in front of the only person who led me to this mess after I got the message—eliminating my doubts. I remembered 'verily, After Hardship Comes Ease.' (94:6). I knew Allah was listening to my prayers as I waited in the car, debating whether to enter or not. I stopped the vehicle and remained in front of the house.

A few minutes later, a figure came out.

"Wahaj?" She questioned as she went outside the gate.

"Roya." I smiled.

"What are you doing here ?" She asked.

"Can you call your uncle Ibrahim outside," I requested.

"He is inside, you can come in" She smiled back.

She looked much healthier than four years ago; the anger in her eyes seemed to diminish. She seemed happier. I always prayed for those five kids that they might find peace in this harsh world they lived in.

"No, I don't want to impose," I replied as I looked at the back seat to Layan, my daughter, who sat awake in the back seat as she held into her jacket that she was wearing. Lila was so tired that she slept again- I couldn't blame her. Then, I sow Layan going inside the house, and a few minutes later, there he was.

Ibrahim.

Ibrahim.

Time passes in perfect slow motion; an endless moment in which no one moves, no one breathes as I step outside the car and Layan follows out.

Layan is the first to shift. Unaware of what's occurring, she picks her head up and looks at me, and though I'm not sure what she sees in my expression, whatever it makes her turn her small face round – right towards Ibrahim.

When I hear his sharp intake of breath, I knew he understood what happened. He finally sow her. He looked with his emerald eyes for support. His attention wasn't on me but the little girl and there locked in each other's gazes.

It's not until Ibrahim takes a couple of steps forward that I snap out of my frozen state. "Get inside the car Layan, please," I whisper urgently, my eyes on Ibrahim.

He must hear me because he flashes bewildered eyes my way quickly before turning them back to her. My daughter doesn't shift her eyes from him.

He takes a couple more steps forward.

"Layan!" I hiss.

Layan doesn't loosen her hold on me, doesn't turn away from Ibrahim.

I force my eyes away from Ibrahim and to my daughter.

"Layan, darling," I murmur gently, and then finally, finally she snaps out of her fascination with the man a couple of meters away and looks at me. Her emerald eyes are wide with wonder.

"Layan, go inside the car. I'll be right in, okay?"

Her little brows scrunch together. "Mama, who is that man? Why are we here? "

My heart thumps. I swallow thickly. "Layan," I whisper, "go inside the car. I'll be right in."

She holds my gaze curiously for a few moments, but when I give her my most pressing look, she goes inside the car. Still, her eyes trail to him once more as she sat inside the vehicle and looks away from the window as I guide him away from the car.

He let me guide him away, but his eyes don't move. It's as if they're melded to where Layan is. When he does turn his eyes my way, he looks stupefied, positively dumbfounded. I stand there frozen and watch as he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down more than a few times, while his hand grips his hair, while his dazed eyes continue the trail back and forth from the car to me - back and forth, back and forth.

And then he takes the last remaining steps, coming to a stop in front of me. My heart races, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

I wait. I can do nothing else but wait.

He tries again, looking beyond me while his shaky words finally come out. At first, they're more like unconnected, incohesive, random thoughts.

"She...her eyes... is.. It... It supposed to be a boy... I... implanted a boy(s). The embryo(S) is supposed to be a boy(s)." He quickly meets my eyes, "She is ours, isn't she."

"Mine," I corrected him as I showed him the DNA test I did a few days ago that proves it, "The results were inclusive, they are ours biologically, I am not infertile,"

"But... How... when... they," He looks at the girl looking at the window at him.

"Your plans didn't work; just like I told my father, you can't play god, you aren't a god." I looked into his body that was shaking at the realization; It was my first time seeing him like this, "I thought there had to be...more...there was just so much anger in you, Wahaj, but I knew...of course I knew how badly I'd messed things up with you...every single day of my life since then I've wished I could go back to those moments and take them back, be a little sweeter, get to tell you how much I love you, and most of all stop myself from over thinking... though I only knew you briefly, I knew you, and you'd never hurt me... not like when you stabbed me or threatened me... It simply wasn't in you. I wasn't scared of you, Wahaj, but not because I felt cocky, the way you kept accusing me, but because I was so god-damned thrilled to have you near me again – even if it was this different, harder version of you." He quickly meets my eyes. "I didn't want to tell you about your father, I didn't want to open close doors," he says as if he's trying to apologize, "I didn't want to interfere in your private life after what I'd done...but I had to know what I was missing... if I was missing something. And now..."

He grips his hair so hard it looks as if he may pull it out from the roots.

I swallow thickly, my nails digging into my palms; cutting through the skin. I can barely focus on what he's saying, on what his words mean. At some other point in time, perhaps I'll go back and examine them, but at this instant, all I can think of is the feeling he was feeling right now. He was telling the truth.

He really didn't know, because he wasn't much of an actor, he was too cold to be an actor.

He releases a long breath through narrowed lips, opening his eyes once more. They're dark and wary, his voice much more composed when he speaks, "Wahaj, what the hell is going on? How did this happen?"

I hold his gaze, "I am not your professor; I don't have to answer your every question." I answer him, "I never thought I was infertile, you and my father were the ones who thought so. He doesn't know they are my children either does he ?"

He nodded, "He never gave me the chance to tell him, I kept the gender to myself, I knew the embryo(s) I inseminated you with were boys," He pulls in another lungful of air, chest rising and falling harshly as our eyes looked. "Her eyes?" He questioned.

I nodded, "I knew from their eyes that they were ours; I never doubted it."

"But how, after everything ?" He seemed to be barely holding himself straight as he may think of all the trials and the medical procedure they did to ensure the insemination.

"They Plan, and Allah plans. Surely, Allah is the best of planners, Quran(8:30)" I smile softly, "You, Mr Black, Mrs Chamberlain, my father plot and plan but Allah was my protector," I smiled in relief.

Alhamdulillah.