Chapter 5

My body ached. The excitement of being back at work had faded, replaced by a dull throb in my ankle and the exhaustion of hiding a pregnancy.

 I unlocked the heavy front door of the Safe House, expecting silence and a cold, empty hallway.

 Instead, laughter filled the air.

 "Oh, look at you! You are still as beautiful as a doll, Mina!"

 "Stop it, Clara! You are making me blush."

 My hand froze on the doorknob. That was Zyran’s sister, Clara. The other voice, the deep, commanding one belonged to his mother, Beatrice.

 I took a deep breath. Just be polite, I told myself, be the good wife.

 I walked into the living room. The sight before me made my stomach drop.

 Mina sat in the center of the plush velvet sofa, wrapped in a cashmere blanket I recognized, it was a gift Zyran had given his mother last Christmas. Beatrice held Mina’s hand on one side while Clara was on the other, brushing a stray lock of hair from Mina’s face.

 Zyran stood by the fireplace, watching them with a soft, relieved expression. He looked like a man at peace.

 I felt like an intruder in my own marriage.

 "Good evening," I said, my voice sounding too loud in the warm room.

 The laughter stopped instantly.

 Beatrice turned her head. Her eyes, identical to Zyran’s but devoid of warmth, swept over me. She didn't smile.

 "You're back," Beatrice said flatly. "We were wondering when you would join us. Zyran said you were at the office."

 "Yes," I said, stepping further into the room. "I had some urgent work to finish."

 "Work," Clara scoffed. She didn’t even look at me; her attention was on Mina. "Always chasing a career. Meanwhile, poor Mina has been through a living hell, she needs family, not business plans."

 "I... I am family too, Clara," I said softly.

 Beatrice ignored my response and turned back to Mina, squeezing her hand. "My poor dear. When Zyran told us about the fire, I nearly had a heart attack. You know you are always welcome at the manor, you didn’t have to suffer alone."

 Mina sniffed, wiping a fake tear from her eye. "I know, Auntie Beatrice. But I didn’t want to be a burden. I know Zyran is... married now."

 She said the word married like it was a disease.

 "Oh, hush," Beatrice said, waving her hand dismissively. "Marriage is just paper. History is what matters. You have been part of us since you were in pigtails, that hasn’t changed."

 I looked at Zyran, waiting for him to step in, waiting for him to say, "Actually, Mother, Roosevelt is my wife and she is important too."

 But Zyran just nodded. "Mother is right, Mina. You aren't a burden."

 A sting of tears welled up, but I blinked them away. I walked over to the armchair where my purse rested.

 "Did you bring these?" I asked, noticing a pile of gift bags on the coffee table from high-end boutiques—Gucci, Chanel, La Perla.

 "Mina lost everything in the fire," Clara said defensively. "We couldn’t let her walk around in rags. We brought her some essentials."

 "Essentials?" I looked at the Chanel bag. "That’s very generous of you."

 "Well, someone has to look after her," Beatrice snapped. She finally made eye contact with me. "Zyran told us you are designing her new apartment. I hope you aren't charging him for it. It’s the least you can do after she was almost thrown out onto the street."

 My jaw tightened. "I am doing it as a favor, Beatrice. I am not charging a dime."

 "Good," Beatrice said, turning her back to me again. "Now, Mina, tell me... do you remember that summer at the lake house? When you and Zyran got lost in the woods?"

 Mina giggled, her face lighting up. "I remember! Zyran carried me on his back for three miles because I scraped my knee."

 "He was always your protector," Clara sighed dreamily. "You two were inseparable, everyone thought..."

 Clara stopped, glancing at me, then smirked. "Well, everyone thought a lot of things."

 I stood there, invisible. They were rewriting history right in front of me, erasing four years of my marriage and replacing it with their nostalgia.

 "I'm going to go upstairs," I announced. "My ankle is sore."

 No one answered. Beatrice was too busy pulling a diamond bracelet out of her purse to show Mina.

 "This was meant for your birthday years ago," Beatrice whispered to Mina, loud enough for me to hear. "I kept it. I knew you would come back to us."

 I turned and walked toward the stairs. My heart felt heavy, like a stone in my chest. They didn’t even ask how I was. They didn’t notice the bandage on my leg. And they certainly didn’t know about the grandchild I was carrying, the grandchild that was currently less important to them than Mina’s scraped knee from twenty years ago.

 As I reached the first step, I heard Mina’s soft voice.

 "Don't be too hard on Roosevelt, Auntie. She is working so hard to fix my new house. She is very... obedient."

 Beatrice laughed

 "Every house needs a decorator, darling. But it takes a lady to make a home."

 I closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, letting out a long, shaky breath. The sound of their laughter drifted up from the living room, warm and comfortable like a melody I didn't know the lyrics to.

 My stomach churned, a mix of hunger and morning sickness. I walked to my drawer and quickly opened my purse, searching for my prenatal vitamins. I shook two pills into my hand, my fingers trembling slightly.

 Suddenly, the doorknob turned.

 I gasped and quickly shoved the pills into my mouth, swallowing them dry. I tossed the bottle back into my purse and snapped it shut just as the door opened.

 It was Beatrice.

 She didn't knock. She walked in, her pearls clicking softly against her silk blouse, and scanned the room with a critical eye as if checking for dust.

 "Zyran left his gold watch up here," she said, her voice cool and detached. "He needs it. He wants to show it to Mina. It matches the bracelet I gave her."

 I stood up, smoothing down my skirt. "I haven't seen it... Mom. But I can help you look."

 Beatrice stiffened slightly at the word 'Mom.' She didn’t yell, but her expression tightened as if she had just tasted a lemon.

 "You don't need to help," she said, walking over to the nightstand. "And Beatrice is fine, Roosevelt. We don’t need to force intimacy where there is none."

 I bit my lip. "I just want us to get along for Zyran’s sake."

 Beatrice opened the top drawer of the nightstand. She found the watch immediately and picked it up, polishing the face with her thumb.

 "We get along fine," she said dismissively. "You are a polite girl. You have a job, and you keep Zyran fed. But you must understand... seeing Mina again reminds us of a different time. A time when Zyran was truly... alive."

 She turned to leave, but her eyes landed on the desk by the window. I had left the file for the new condo project open. The blueprints were spread out, the address printed clearly at the top.

 Beatrice walked over to the desk and looked down at the papers.

 "So," she said, tapping a manicured fingernail on the blueprint, "this is the apartment you are designing for her?"

 "Yes," I said, walking over. "Zyran bought it today. It’s a rush job, but I’m going to make it beautiful. I want her to feel comfortable."

 Beatrice read the address on the paper: 1402 Lakeview Drive, Penthouse B.

 She froze.

 A strange, quiet smile touched her lips. It wasn't a mean smile, exactly. It was a smile of pity.

 "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, Roosevelt."

 "What is it?" I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach. "Is it a bad neighborhood? I can tell Zyran to look for something else."

 Beatrice shook her head slowly, looking at me.

 "You really don't know, do you?" she asked softly. "You poor thing, you actually think he went out and bought this place today?"

 "He told me he just closed the deal," I said defensively.

 "Zyran bought this penthouse five years ago," Beatrice said, her tone matter-of-fact. "He bought it the month before Mina left him. He hired an architect and spent months planning every detail. It was supposed to be their marital home. Their dream house."

 The air left my lungs.

 "No," I whispered. "That can't be true. He said it was a new investment."

 "He never sold it," Beatrice said as she glanced at the blueprints. "He kept it empty all these years. He paid the taxes, managed the maintenance, and left it waiting. Just like he left his heart waiting."

 She picked up the watch and walked to the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned back to me one last time.

 "He isn't asking you to design a new home for an old friend, Roosevelt," she said. "He is asking you to finish the nest he built for the love of his life."

 She closed the door, leaving me alone in silence.

 I stared at the blueprints. The lines on the paper suddenly looked like prison bars.

 Zyran hadn't just bought a condo. He was moving her into the home he had built for her. He had held onto it for five years.

 And the most frightening question wasn't why he kept it.

 The question was... if that was their home, then what was I living in?