Chapter 8 – The Child
The taxi ride back from Heliopolis felt longer than it should have.
I kept replaying Layla's face in my mind — the way her dark hair fell over her forehead, the way her eyes lit up when I stacked the red block on top of the blue one, the small "Bye, Lila" she whispered when I left.
She was two years old, had my name, and had her mother's eyes.
I cried most of the way home.
When I walked into the apartment at 4:10 p.m., Adrian was already there.
He was sitting on the couch, not on his phone, not reading — just sitting, staring at the wall. He looked up when I came in, and his expression was hard.
"You went to see Layla," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I said, taking off my shoes.
"You were told not to."
"I know. I'm sorry. I needed to see her."
He stood up, his jaw tight.
"You broke the rule," he said.
"I know."
"What did my mother say?"
"She said I can't see Layla because I look like Nadia."
He nodded, looked away toward the window.
"Are you going to punish me?" I asked, my voice small.
He looked at me for a long time. His eyes were tired, not angry.
"No," he said. "But don't do it again."
I nodded.
He went to his office and closed the door.
I went to my room, sat on the bed, and cried.
I had met Layla.
She was beautiful.
She missed her mother.
And I was the woman who looked like her mother but could never be her mother.
That night I didn't cook.
I made a sandwich, ate it at the counter, and went to bed early.
Adrian stayed in his office until almost midnight.
The next morning he left at 7 a.m. without saying goodbye.
I spent the day cleaning, but my mind was on Layla.
At 3 p.m. I found myself opening the photo album again.
I sat on the floor of the office, the album on my lap, flipping through the pages.
Wedding photos. Vacation photos. Photos of Nadia holding a baby — Layla, just a few weeks old, wrapped in a pink blanket, sleeping on Nadia's chest.
I traced the baby's face with my finger.
She had the same eyes.
I closed the album and put it back.
I left the office and sat on the couch.
I thought about my father in the hospital. I thought about the 50,000 pounds that came every month. I thought about the three years I had signed away.
I thought about Layla.
At 8:20 p.m. Adrian came home.
He walked in, saw me sitting on the couch, and said, "You were in my office again."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I admitted.
His eyes darkened. "I told you not to."
"I know. I'm sorry. I saw the album."
He walked to the window and looked out at the city.
"She was my wife," he said quietly. "She was pregnant when she disappeared."
"I know. You have a daughter. Her name is Layla."
He turned to look at me.
"Yes."
"Can I see her again?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you look like her mother."
"That's not a reason."
"It is for me."
I stood up. "Adrian, I'm not her. I'm not Nadia. I'm Lila."
"I know," he said quietly.
"Then why can't I see your daughter?"
He didn't answer.
I felt tears filling my eyes.
"Is it because it hurts you to look at me?"
He didn't say yes, but he didn't say no either.
I went to my room and closed the door.
I sat on the bed and cried.
I was not her.
I was me.
But I was living in her apartment, sleeping in her guest room, cooking in her kitchen, and now I knew I shared a name with his daughter.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m.
At 10 a.m. I made a decision.
If I couldn't see Layla here, I would find another way to be near her.
I took a taxi to a children's toy store, used the card, and bought a small teddy bear — light brown, with a blue ribbon.
I also bought a children's book: *The Little Star.*
I went back to the apartment, wrapped the gifts in plain paper, and wrote a card:
*For Layla – From Lila*
I put the gifts in my bag and waited.
At 8 p.m. Adrian came home.
He saw me holding the bag and said, "What's that?"
"Gifts for Layla."
"You're not seeing her."
"I know. Can you give them to her for me?"
He looked at the bag, then at me.
"Why?"
"Because she's your daughter, and I want her to have something from me."
He didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "Give me the bag."
I handed it to him.
He took it, looked at the card, and went to his office.
I went to my room.
Ten minutes later he came to my door.
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome."
He hesitated, then said, "My mother said Layla liked the bear."
A small smile touched my lips. "I'm glad."
He nodded and went back to his office.
That night I slept a little better.
The next day I cooked his favorite — grilled chicken with rosemary.
He came home at 8 p.m., ate, said "Thank you," and went to his office.
I was cleaning the kitchen when I heard him on the phone.
His voice was low.
"She liked the bear," he said. "Yes, she asked who Lila is. I told her Lila is a friend."
A pause.
"No, I didn't tell her about the contract."
Another pause.
"I'll tell her when the time is right."
He closed the door.
I stood at the sink, my heart pounding.
*She asked who Lila is.*
Layla knew my name.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m.
At 11 a.m. my phone rang.
It was Mrs. Cole.
"Hello, Lila."
"Hello, Mrs. Cole."
"Layla has been asking about you."
My heart lifted. "She has?"
"Yes. She keeps hugging the bear and asking 'Where's Lila?'"
I smiled through my tears. "Tell her I say hi."
"I will. Be patient, dear. Adrian is trying."
"I know. Thank you."
She hung up.
I sat on the couch and cried happy tears.
Layla was asking about me.
The next day I cooked.
I made macaroni bechamel, a dish my mother used to make.
Adrian came home at 8 p.m., saw the dish, and said, "You made this?"
"Yes."
He ate two servings.
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome."
After dinner he went to his office.
I was washing dishes when I heard him on the phone again.
"She ate two plates," he said, and I could hear a smile in his voice. "Yes, she said it tastes like the one Nadia used to make."
My hand froze on the plate.
Nadia used to make macaroni bechamel.
I was cooking her recipe.
I finished the dishes and went to my room.
I sat on the bed and thought.
Everything I did — the food I cooked, the way I looked, even my name — reminded him of her.
I was a living reminder.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m.
At 2 p.m. I decided to do something for myself.
I went to a bookstore, bought a novel, and sat in a café for an hour reading.
At 5 p.m. I got a call from the hospital.
"Miss Ahmed, your father is ready to be discharged tomorrow."
Tears filled my eyes. "Thank you."
I went home and told Adrian when he came back at 8 p.m.
"My father is coming home tomorrow."
"That's good news," he said.
"Can I bring him here for a day?"
He hesitated.
"The contract says no guests," he said.
"I know. But he's my father. He just got out of the hospital."
Adrian looked at me.
"One day," he said. "Just one day."
"Thank you."
He nodded and went to his office.
I went to my room, happy that my father would be home.
The next morning I went to the hospital, helped my father pack, and brought him home in a taxi.
He was weak but smiling.
"This is a beautiful apartment, Lila," he said as I helped him to the couch.
"It's not mine, Baba. It's… the man who helped us."
He nodded. "Where is he?"
"He's at work. He'll be back at 8."
My father rested on the couch.
At 8:05 p.m. Adrian came home.
He stopped when he saw my father on the couch.
"This is my father, Mr. Ahmed," I said.
Adrian nodded. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ahmed."
"Thank you for helping my daughter," my father said.
"It's nothing," Adrian replied.
They talked for ten minutes — polite, brief.
Then Adrian said, "I have work."
He went to his office.
My father looked at me. "He seems like a good man."
"He's… complicated, Baba."
My father nodded and closed his eyes to rest.
At 9 p.m. Adrian came out of his office.
"Mr. Ahmed, you should rest in the guest room," he said.
"Thank you, son."
Adrian helped my father to the guest room — *my* room.
I slept on the couch that night.
The next morning my father left at 9 a.m.
After he left, Adrian came out of his office.
"You let him sleep in your room," he said.
"I didn't want him on the couch."
He nodded.
"Thank you for letting him stay."
"You're welcome."
He went back to his office.
I sat on the couch, feeling like the apartment was finally a home, even if just for one night.
That evening, after Adrian came home, I said, "Can I ask you something?"
He looked at me.
"Why did you keep Nadia's things?"
He was silent for a long moment.
"Because I can't let her go," he said.
"I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yes. If I lost my father, I would keep everything of his."
He looked at me, and I saw something soften in his eyes.
"Thank you for saying that."
"You're welcome."
He went to his office.
I went to my room.
That night I thought about Nadia, about Layla, about my father.
I thought about the contract.
I thought about the three years.
I fell asleep thinking that maybe, just maybe, Adrian was starting to see me as me, not as her.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m.
At 1 p.m. I got a call from Mrs. Cole.
"Lila, Layla is sick. She has a fever."
"I'm so sorry. Is she okay?"
"She's okay. The doctor gave her medicine."
"Can I come see her?"
There was a pause.
"Adrian said no."
I felt my heart sink. "Okay."
"Be patient, dear."
"I will."
She hung up.
I sat on the couch and cried.
Layla was sick and I couldn't be there.
At 8 p.m. Adrian came home.
He looked tired.
"How is Layla?" I asked.
"She's better. The fever broke."
"Thank God."
He nodded and went to his office.
I went to my room.
That night I made a decision.
I would respect the rule about Layla.
But I would not stop caring about her.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m.
At 6 p.m. I got a text from an unknown number.
*This is Mrs. Cole. Layla is asking for you again. Can you come for 30 minutes?*
I looked at the message, my heart racing.
The rule.
Don't see Layla.
But Layla was sick and asking for me.
I texted back: *I'll be there in 40 minutes.*
I took a taxi to Heliopolis.
Mrs. Cole opened the door.
Layla was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her face flushed.
"Lila!" she said weakly and opened her arms.
I sat next to her and hugged her.
"How are you, habibti?"
"I'm sick," she said.
"I know. I brought you another book."
I gave her the book I had bought.
She smiled.
I stayed for 40 minutes, read her the story, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
When I left, Mrs. Cole said, "Thank you, Lila."
I went home.
At 8:30 p.m. Adrian came home.
He walked in, saw me, and said, "You went to see Layla."
"Yes."
"You were told not to."
"I know. She was sick and asking for me."
He looked at me, angry.
"You broke the rule," he said.
"I know."
He walked to his office and slammed the door.
I sat on the couch and cried.
I had broken the rule.
I had seen Layla again.
I didn't regret it.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m. without saying a word to me.
I sat at the kitchen counter, my heart heavy.
I had broken the rule.
I didn't know what would happen next.