Page 172 of Tarek

He’d keep her in his house until she says yes

Jasper

So kidnapping?

Rhet

You say kidnapping. I say private negotiations.

Dax

I wish you both happiness. Congrats. I’m going back to bed.

Cole

Now we have to go to another wedding. Fuck me.

Rhet

Shut up you lip-less wonder. Just say congrats and go cry in a corner.

Cole

I hate you Rhet. Congrats Tarek. I got lips btw.

Me

Thanks guys

I’m engaged. I’m about to have a family, two kids and maybe more. A wife? I am about to have a wife. I know what love feels like, and I never want to let it go. Standing I look in the mirror and I am a replica of both my mother and my father. I make a silent vow to my wife: I will never treat her the way my father treated my mother, with hate and regret. And my children. I promise this, I will never hurt them, never damage them the way my mother did to me.

ChapterTwenty-Two

Ilyana

Iknow what I have to do. To attain forgiveness, I have to let go and set everything right. On my 29thbirthday. I went to the lawyers to adjust my will. I went to see my parents’ graves. It has been a minute. I said what I had to say to them, and I left.

As I entered the house, my son, almost a teenager, is sitting at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me. His hair is dark and thick like his father’s and his eyes are silver as his. As he grows, I wonder what did he take from me? Hopefully not my mind.

“Mon tresor. I thought you would be getting ready for bed?” I ask Walter to come to collect my shopping bags and coat.

“I have a surprise for you, Mama,” Tarek says as he rises off the stairs.

“For me,” My heart leaps with joy as he hugs me. I press my lips to his head. He smells of sweat and expensive soap. I hold him close to my chest. In a year or so I would be looking up to him. I wish I was more of a mother to him, because he has been the best son to me.

“Dad left; he said he will be home late. So, it’s just you and I tonight.” Tarek says as he leads me into the dining room. He pulls a chair out, takes my hand and lets me sit. I place my small handbag on the table.

“I will be right back. Let me get the cake.” He jogs through the door for some minutes. I hear nothing, the sound of shuffling feet alerts me that he is returning.

Tarek walks through the door with a ten-inch cake covered in white frosting and sprinkles. Should I tell him I hate sprinkles? That I hate the way they taste. I can still hear my mother. “Cake with sprinkles only makes you fatter.” But for my son, I would love sprinkles.

“Happy Birthday, Mama!” Tarek says as he rests the cake on the table in front of me.

He reaches over with a lighter and lights the candles.

I wish I could record the moment and remember the joy on his face. Mon tresor, my sweet little treasure.

“Blow out the candles and make a wish,” Tarek cries.

---