Only for You

2: Threads of Doubt

Fatima descended the stairs, her footsteps soft and deliberate. She had changed into a dark brown, loose-fitted summer dress that swayed gently with each step, paired with a comfortable yet stylish pair of Hermès Oran sandals. As she walked into the kitchen, she was greeted by the familiar scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, a scent that immediately brought her back to childhood.

The kitchen was a picture of refined elegance. The cabinetry was a soft, muted gray, with smooth, clean lines that gave the room a modern yet timeless feel. Marble countertops gleamed under the warm lighting, their subtle veining adding a touch of sophistication. A large island sat at the center of the room, its surface also covered in marble, with a vase of fresh flowers adding a splash of color to the otherwise neutral space. The brass fixtures on the faucets and cabinet handles provided a striking contrast to the gray tones, giving the room a touch of opulence without being overbearing. Near the island, Fiona stood by the oven, a pan of golden-brown cookies in her hands, fresh from the oven.

"Don't you look cute," Fiona remarked as she placed the pan on the countertop, her eyes twinkling with maternal pride.

"Thanks, Ma," Fatima replied, her tone casual as she leaned against the island, feeling the coolness of the marble beneath her fingers.

Fiona wasted no time, diving right into the topic that had been on her mind for weeks. "We have to talk about your bridal shower," she said, her voice firm but not unkind.

Fatima groaned, running a hand down her face in exasperation. She had been dreading this conversation. "Do we have to do it now?" she asked, hoping to delay it for just a little longer.

"Yes!" Fiona insisted, not giving her an inch. "You've been treating this wedding like it's nothing. I want my daughter to have the biggest and most beautiful wedding ever. Anthony loves you, and I know that you love him too—"

"Mama," Fatima sighed, her heart heavy with guilt. Her mother's words struck a chord, a painful reminder of what she was supposed to feel, what she was supposed to be focused on. Anthony did love her—there was no doubt about that.

"I know," she added softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The truth was, Anthony was everything a woman could ask for—kind, successful, and utterly devoted to her. And yet, the events of the previous night lingered in her mind, an inconvenient distraction from what should have been her top priority.

"Now, what's the issue?" Fiona pressed, her hands on her hips as she eyed her daughter. "The wedding is in four months, and we still haven't planned anything."

Fatima nodded, knowing her mother was right. She had been avoiding the wedding planning, burying herself in work and other distractions. But Zac was a one-time thing, a fleeting moment that she needed to forget. Her future was with Anthony, and it was time to focus on that. Plus, she wouldn't have to see Zac ever again, right?

"Oh, and we're having a family lunch tomorrow afternoon," Fiona continued, her tone switching to one of cheerful efficiency. "I invited Oliver. Tell Anthony."

"Okay, Mama," Fatima agreed, not wanting to argue. She was too drained for that. Instead, she tried to lighten the mood. "You and Oliver are getting pretty serious, huh?"

Fiona's face softened, a smile spreading across her lips. "He's a lovely man," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"You're blushing!" Fatima teased, a grin tugging at her lips.

"Girl, stop it!" Fiona laughed, waving her off with a giggle, but the pink tint in her cheeks betrayed her.

The light moment was interrupted by the ringtone of Fatima's phone, the sound cutting through the air. She glanced down at the caller ID and felt her heart skip a beat. "It's Dad," she said, her voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.