Mafia Captured

16. The Silent Cage

One month later, Arsalan sat in his hospital office, staring at the grainy footage on his computer screen. The glow of the monitor illuminated the sharp angles of his face, throwing shadows under his eyes, which were ringed with fatigue. He hadn't gone to her or the children for almost a month. After that incident, he had kept his distance, avoiding both her and the storm of memories she dragged up inside him.

She wasn't in her right mind. He knew that. He had learned his lesson after five years of clinging too tightly to her, of thinking he could control the chaos that surrounded them both. He wasn't about to make the same mistakes again. This time, he would stay away.

The cursor blinked on the screen, but Arsalan's focus didn't waver.

On the feed, Sahira sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a whirl of chaos. Arham darted past her, clutching his hands to his mouth, while a little glass of water and medicine in her hand showed her relentless determination to catch him. The boy's giggles echoed faintly through the speakers.

His lips twitched at the corner, a faint smile that even he couldn't suppress.

Still, Arsalan's chest tightened as he studied her. She looked calmer than she had a few weeks ago, her face no longer etched with the panic that had consumed her after the incident. There was something oddly steady about the way she handled the children—the practiced movements of a mother who had learned to juggle four unruly boys. But Arsalan knew better than to be fooled.

When the children were awake, she was cheerful, always present to attend to their needs. She played with them, taught them surahs in her soft voice, cooked meals they devoured with messy enthusiasm, and scolded them when their mischief crossed the line. At bedtime, she transformed into someone else entirely: a mother who sang them to sleep with lullabies Arsalan hadn't heard in years, her voice cracked and raw.

But when the house finally fell silent, so did she.

Arsalan clenched his fists as his mind conjured up the image he'd seen too many times on that screen. Sahira, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trembling as though trying to hold herself together. Her hands would clamp over her mouth, muffling the sobs that wracked her body. Her head would bow, her face hidden behind her tangled hair, and the tears would fall unchecked, staining her lap.

When the tears ran dry, she would sit still for hours, her gaze locked on something invisible, her face blank as though her soul had fled, leaving behind only her fragile body. Sometimes, Arsalan found himself brushing his fingers against the screen, tracing the outline of her face as if it would help him feel her pain, understand it. But how could he?

For five years, had she been pretending to be happy in front of everyone, only to shatter when no one was looking? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, and an ache settled in his chest.

The sound of laughter broke through his brooding thoughts. On the screen, Arham had managed to slip free from Sahira's grasp and was now dodging behind a sofa. She rolled her eyes but didn't give up, her steps quick and sure as she cornered him.

"Arham, stop running!" she said, her voice soft but firm.

"Never!" Arham shot back, his voice a blend of defiance and delight.

Arsalan's faint smile returned, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.

His moment of peace was shattered by the sound of his office door slamming open. Karim strode in without so much as a knock, his typical swagger making Arsalan's jaw tighten.

"I told you to knock," Arsalan growled, turning his gaze away from the screen.

Karim ignored the warning, as he always did, and ambled over to the desk. He was grinning, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Relax, man. You're too uptight. What are you watching, huh?"