IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER SIX

The house had settled into its nightly hush, the kind that wrapped around the walls like a blanket too heavy for comfort. Upstairs, Iris sat on the edge of her bed, brushing Imani’s curls with slow, deliberate strokes. The child had been quiet all evening—no humming, no questions, no bursts of laughter. Just silence, like something inside her had folded in on itself.

Iris didn’t press. She knew her daughter well enough to recognize when words needed space to bloom.

Imani shifted slightly, her small fingers playing with the hem of her pajama top. Then, in a voice so soft it barely reached the air, she asked,

“Mommy… do daddies forget who they love sometimes?”

The brush paused mid-stroke. Iris blinked, her heart tightening.

“What makes you ask that, sweetheart?”

Imani didn’t look up. Her eyes stayed fixed on the blanket, tracing invisible patterns.

“I saw Daddy… with that lady. She kissed him. On the mouth.”

Her voice trembled, the words fragile and raw.

“And he didn’t stop her.”

Iris swallowed hard, her hand resting gently on Imani’s shoulder.

“Oh, baby…”

Imani turned then, her eyes wide and glistening.

“Is she his new wife now? Are we going to be her family?”

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“I don’t want a new mommy. I want you.”

Iris pulled her close, wrapping her arms around the small, trembling body.

“You’ll always have me, Imani. Always. No one can ever take my place in your heart.”

Imani sniffled, her voice barely a whisper.

“But Daddy looked happy. Like he forgot you. Like he forgot us.”

Iris stroked her back, slow and steady, grounding them both.

“Sometimes grown-ups make choices that hurt, even if they don’t mean to. But your feelings matter. And it’s okay to be sad. Or angry. Or confused.”

Imani nestled deeper into her mother’s arms.

“I felt like I disappeared. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Iris kissed the top of her head, her voice a quiet vow.

“You’re always here. You’re the brightest part of my world.”

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees.

The morning sun crept over the tall estate windows, casting soft gold over the manicured lawn. But inside the Valen masion, warmth was far from Iris’s reality.

Iris had woken before the sky turned blue, quietly tending to Imani and prepping the tea tray with careful hands. Her skin still tingled with pain where hot tea had scalded her the previous night. A welt had formed on her arm, red and raw, but she pressed on. She wouldn’t give Miralda a reason to unleash again.

By 6:50, she was at Miralda’s door.

She knocked softly, whispered a greeting, and gently opened it to place the tea on the side table.

Miralda, however, was already awake.

Her eyes snapped open like a snake roused from slumber. Her voice came in a hiss, “What time is it?”

“S-six fifty-five, ma’am,” Iris said cautiously.

Miralda stood, her silk robe fluttering as she moved toward Iris. Then, with unexpected force, she shoved her. Iris lost her footing and fell to the floor with a soft gasp, the tray rattling.

“You dare wake me up before seven?” she snarled. “Which part of the bush spat you out, huh? You’re not even smart enough to tell time?”

The disgust in her voice was like venom.

She took a sip of the tea.

“Ouch! Stupid girl, it’s hot!” she shrieked, and hurled the cup at Iris.

Iris flinched.

The ceramic hit her arm and shattered, burning tea splashing across her skin. She bit her lip hard to stifle the scream, but a few soft, stifled sobs escaped. Her hand trembled as she tried to steady herself, the sting intensifying.

“Clean that up! i***t!” Miralda barked. She turned, unconcerned, as if she hadn’t just scalded a person.

Iris lowered to her knees to pick up the broken cup, tears blurring her vision. But then—

Crunch.

Miralda stepped forward, crushing Iris’s hand into the shards beneath her heel. A soft cry left Iris’s lips as blood bloomed on her palm.

Still, she said nothing.

She held her breath, stood shakily, and cleaned up the mess, tucking her hand into her robe to hide the cut. Her burn throbbed. The wound bled. But she rushed to the kitchen to make a new cup of tea, suppressing every emotion.

Just as she placed the new cup down, Miralda stood with a smirk and said, “Make breakfast. My son’s girlfriend will be joining us.”

Iris blinked. Girlfriend?

She barely had time to think. Thankfully, Imani still slept peacefully upstairs. Iris scrambled to prepare breakfast—fruit, bread rolls, pastries, eggs, and spiced tea. She made sure to wash her hands thoroughly and hide the cuts beneath sleeves.

By 8:30, the doorbell rang.

It was Flora.

Miralda welcomed her with an embrace, almost like she was welcoming royalty. “Oh, sweetheart! Look at you! Stunning as always!” she cooed, guiding Flora in with delight.

Flora was radiant, as always. Her designer dress hugged her body in all the right places, her heels clicked like confidence on marble, and her red lipstick matched the fire in her eyes. She eyed the room with one quick sweep and spotted Iris in the corner—carrying the last tray of breakfast.

With a smirk, she sat down beside Miralda.

“Serve the tea,” Miralda said to Iris without looking at her.

Iris obeyed, moving silently from one end of the table to the other.

That was when Aziel appeared.

He descended the stairs, dressed in a black fitted shirt and dark slacks, his cologne trailing behind him—sharp, clean, unmistakably him.

His steps halted the moment he stepped into the dining hall.

His eyes locked with Iris’s.

The tray trembled slightly in her hand. Her left arm was swollen red, the skin shiny from the burn. Her right hand had been freshly bandaged, but a spot of crimson still soaked through. Her eyes looked hopeful, but broken.

For a moment—just a moment—Aziel’s expression cracked.

But then he looked at Flora, already seated at his family table, being served like a queen. His jaw clenched.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was cold, sharp.

Flora stood gracefully, her smile coy. “I thought I’d surprise you. Your mother invited me.”

Aziel turned slowly to his mother. “You did what?”

Miralda shrugged. “You’re adults. You should talk. Sit. Eat. You haven’t had a decent home meal in months.”

Aziel didn’t move. He looked at the table. The setting. Then his gaze flickered back to Iris—her hands trembling as she set down the last plate.

She didn’t say a word. But everything in her face said she wanted to.

Help me. Say something.

He didn’t.

Aziel returned his gaze to Flora. “I have work.”

“Sit,” Miralda repeated, this time with a sharper tone.

Aziel pulled out a chair, not because he wanted to. But because confrontation at the table would only drag out. He sat, but his expression was stormy.

Iris stepped back, her fingers trembling around the now-empty tray. Her eyes burned. She looked at Aziel one more time, hoping—pleading—for some acknowledgment. Some protection.

But he didn’t meet her eyes again.

When Iris was done tending to her bruised arm and redressing the cut on her palm, she slipped into her room quietly. She didn’t want Imani to see her looking like that. Her daughter was far too perceptive—and too soft-hearted—to witness the pain on her mother’s face without being affected.

She cleaned herself up, brushed her hair back into a low bun, and wore a calm smile—the kind that took practice to fake.

Then she walked over to the little bed on the far side of the room where Imani was still buried under soft blankets. It was the weekend. Imani always slept in a little longer on weekends.

“Sweetheart,” Iris called gently, brushing a finger along her cheek. “It’s morning.”

Imani stirred, then sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Good morning, Mummy.” Her small arms immediately reached out for a hug.

Iris wrapped her close. “Let’s get you ready. You have a fun day ahead.”

After bathing her and tying her hair into playful twin puffs, Iris dressed Imani in a sunny yellow dress. She watched with quiet amusement as Imani practically skipped down the stairs toward the dining room.

In the living room, Vincent—Imani’s great-grandfather—was already seated with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

“Oh, hello my child,” he said with a smile.

“Hi, Grandpa!” Imani grinned, rushing into his arms.

He chuckled and lifted her to sit on his lap. “When you’re done eating, you and I are heading out for the day. Just us two. What do you think?”

Imani gasped excitedly, eyes wide. “Really?! Yay!”

“Eat first,” he said with a mock-serious face. “I need my companion well-fed.”

Moments later, Imani returned with a sandwich in her hand. “Grandpa, I’m eating already!”

Vincent burst into laughter. “Good girl!”

Iris stood at the doorway, smiling as she watched them. For a moment, peace wrapped around her like a fragile blanket. She waved them off as Vincent carried Imani out, her voice trailing with excitement about the amusement park and ice cream.

She thought she might have a quiet morning to herself.

She was wrong.