Page 138 of To Tango, with Desire

I ran my hand over my lower abdomen, feeling the scar. It would always be there. Zane had said he wasn’t fazed by the ugly red mark, and to be honest, I wasn’t either. Every time I looked at it, I wasn’t upset by the pregnancy loss. It had become a reminder of how important it was for me to back myself. To trust that I knew what was best for my life. To make my own choices without questioning myself.

I hadn’t heard from my mom since that day. Her silence spoke volumes. To a woman who’d devoted her life to raising children, my decision to have an abortion had gone against everything she’d lived for. It had been tantamount to a crime.

I understood her perspective, but it hurt to know that she would never understand mine.

Just as I was about to head downstairs to get back to work, my phone rang.

It was Sahar.

The back of my neck tingled at the coincidence.

I sat back on the sofa. I could hear the machines humming downstairs and I glanced at the time. I had a private consult in an hour and then I had a financial planning meeting.

My schedule was hectic, and while my energy levels were good, I knew that long hours every day weren’t going to help. I couldn’t quite go back to the rigorous schedule I’d kept before my surgery. And that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Recovering had made me take a step back from doing so much of the hands-on work. I had to hire others to do it for me, which meant my focus was now on fresh designs, expansion, and building a name for myself in the industry.

My goals had somehow shifted since the start of the year. I’d thought having my own store, being able to afford the rent, and have savings would be enough. But my dreams had always been big, and I’d been stifling my own ambitions without even realizing it.

Had I not met and married Zane, would I even be contemplating this expansion? Would I even be trying to crack the global market?

I answered the video call.

“Took you long enough. Thought I’d have to text you.” Sahar was walking through her house, the sounds of the children squealing in the background.

“Hey, I’m just at work. What’s up?”

“I’m pre-warning you that Mom wanted me to call you. She’s in a mood today and has made the decision to relocate to Sydney. To be closer to me and the kids.”

“Wow. Okay. Is she still in a huff about—”

“Sahar! Where are you?”

“Shit. Busted. Listen, I have no say in this, just so you know. I love you. I support you completely, okay?”

“Okay.” I looked at my sister, trying to understand what was going on. The phone dropped and my mother’s face filled the screen.

“Amira.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“I call to tell you this, and then I not going to tell you again.”

My stomach tightened. It was always like this when my mom had an issue. She wasn’t happy until she spewed out all her anger on those around her. I didn’t know how Sahar had managed all these months with her living there. But then again, Sahar was a lot more agreeable than I was.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m not coming back. I’ve decided to move to Sydney, to live with Sahar and her family. You need to send over my things. Close up the house. Sell it off.”

“You’re selling the house?”

“I don’t want to go back there. Your father dead, your brothers have their own families, and you living your own life and don’t care about me anyway.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Amira, you and I are finished. No daughter of mine would dare to do what you do.”

“I didn’t do anything in the end, Mom. I ended up losing the pregnancy, so what’s the big deal?”