Ilias laughed. “You’re not.” He hesitated. “The two years are almost up.”
Silence. Heavy. Revealing. Whenever Azul or his father came up, she shut down, just like Sofia did when something hurt too much.
“And?” she finally asked.
“Don’t you want to know what we’re going to do about it?”
“Please tell me you’re going to close it.”
“No.” His voice softened. “We’re turning it into an international surf retreat. Using Amira’s and my name. Ghita will run everything.”
“Do you care so much about him?” she asked, her voice cracking with judgment and old wounds. “Did therapy make you forgive him?”
“It’s not about him anymore,” he said quietly. “It’s about Ghita. She’s poured her soul into Azul. Taking it from her? It doesn’t feel right.”
“What about the money you need to start a family with Sofia? Kids, a house? There are better things to invest in than the legacy your father destroyed himself over.”
“The way Papá ran Azul was money-draining. Ghita’s plan isn’t. It’ll make money. We could turn something that broke our family into something good. Profitable. Ours.” He paused. “For you too.”
He stared at the ocean, letting the horizon steady him.
“I don’t want his money,” she whispered.
“It’s ours now. He’s gone.”
“Yet, I feel he never left.”
He swallowed hard. “Mama… have you gone to therapy?”
Silence stretched thin as thread.
“I know you think talking about Papá won’t solve anything,” he said softly. “But therapy helped me. Really helped me. If I can process all this now, it’s because of that. It helped me close a chapter.”
“I don’t believe in it.”
“Believe in me, then,” he murmured.
She sighed. A wounded, exhausted sound.
“I’m not trying to pressure you, Mama. I just… I care about you. And all this hate, all this pain, it’s not healthy. You’re ignoring Ghita, and she’s your niece. She loves you. And you’ve cut off the whole family in Morocco because of what Papá did.”
“They all knew,” she hissed, and he heard the tears.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I just want you to be happy again.”
“I’m happy,” she sniffled, lying to both of them.
“Alright.” He exhaled. “I’ll let you go. See you soon, okay?”
“Yes. Come home when you can. I want to meet Sofia.” Her tone changed abruptly, her classic signal that the conversation was over.
“I’ll bring her. I love you, Mamá.”
“I love you, wldi, my son.”
When he hung up, he let his head fall forward, massaging his temples. He needed the ocean. He needed a wave big enough to take all this weight and drown it out.
41
