The living room was dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner. Madam Arabella Pedro was pacing, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater, but she stopped the moment Amara walked through the door.
"You're home," Arabella said, her eyes searching Amara's face for any sign of a breakdown. "You must have seen Amira. She is the only one who can get you worked up like this."
Amara hung her coat up, her movements calm, unusually so, and added. "Don't worry, mother. She will come around when she realizes how much we love her," she said, her voice steady.
Arabella forced a smile, though her eyes remained guarded. Amara doesn't have to know the truth, she thought, the secret heavy in her chest. Not yet.
"Julian tried to create a beautiful, romantic moment tonight," Amara continued, walking over to the main hall. "He wanted to cheer me up. I actually feel... peace, Mother."
