“A fairy tale,” he sneers. “A beggar pretending to be royalty.”
But then the Imam says, “Bring it.”
A woman steps forward.
You recognize her voice from the safe house, one of the cooks.
“I was the palace nurse,” she says. “I saw the poison. I saw the cover-up.”
Another voice speaks: “I signed the land transfers under threat.”
And another: “I buried the governor’s real medical report.”
The air changes.
It becomes heavy with truth, and truth is a kind of gravity that even powerful men can’t escape.
Your father’s voice cracks, suddenly desperate.
“I didn’t know!” he blurts. “I was just… I was told…”
You turn toward him, shaking.
“You sold me,” you whisper. “You threw me away.”
Your voice hardens. “Whether you knew or not, you did it.”
The officers arrive.
You hear the metallic click of restraints.
Ibrahim swears, furious, but his confidence is leaking now.
When they drag him out, he hisses, “This isn’t over.”
Yusha’s hand tightens around yours.
“It is for you,” he says quietly. “I promise.”
Your father tries to follow them, scrambling.
“Zainab,” he cries, voice thick with panic, “forgive me! I was desperate!”
You stand with Yusha’s support, your legs trembling.
You face the sound of your father’s voice like you’re facing a storm.
“You taught me I was nothing,” you say.
“But you were wrong.”
You inhale slowly, and it feels like your first real breath. “I forgive myself for believing you.”
Your father goes silent.
