IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aziel returned to the quiet hospital room quietly.

“Daddy!” she squealed, hugging the teddy close to her chest. “This is the first time you ever gifted me something.”

The words pierced him deeper than any rebuke could. Aziel swallowed, moving to sit at her bedside.

“Baby,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I let you down. I should have been there when you needed me. I’m sorry. Please… forgive me.”

Imani studied him for a moment with wide, honest eyes, then nodded slowly. “I forgive you, Daddy. But… I don’t want that silly lady in our home anymore.”

Aziel’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t hesitate. He nodded firmly. “I’ll do something about that.”

A smile spread across Imani’s face, her small fingers tightening around the teddy. “When I get discharged, we’ll both go for ice cream—just you and me?”

Aziel managed a faint, guilty smile. “Just us.”

Imani squealed softly. “Yesss!”

For the first time, the sterile white room filled with a warmth Iris had long prayed for. Father and daughter sat together—Aziel reading her favorite picture book aloud, though he stumbled on some of the silly voices she insisted he try. At one point, he even braided a section of her doll’s hair clumsily, making Imani giggle so hard her chest shook. When she grew sleepy, he sat beside her, humming an old lullaby that startled even him—it was something his own mother used to sing.

---

Later that evening, Iris made her way to her uncle’s house. The air was heavy with the familiar mixture of damp wood and faint smoke. She carried herself with quiet dignity, but her heart was raw.

The moment she entered the living room, three pairs of eyes greeted her with thinly veiled disdain. Merlene’s sharp gaze raked over her, Skylar smirked with folded arms, and Miguel leaned back in his chair with mocking amusement.

She sat down slowly, folding her hands in her lap. After a long silence, she finally said it:

“I’m divorcing Aziel.”

The room erupted—not in shock, but in cruel laughter.

“You?” Skylar mocked. “You want to divorce Aziel? What do you even have?”

Iris lifted her chin. “I can’t keep enduring the constant torture and humiliation.”

Miguel scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt. “So you want us all to crawl back into poverty?”

“I’ll look for work. I’ll manage. I—”

Merlene’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting her off. “Shut your mouth, you ungrateful nobody. You’re not divorcing Aziel. Simple as that.”

Iris’s gaze turned toward her uncle, Dorian—the only one she still had hope in. Her voice trembled. “Uncle, you’re on my side, right?”

Dorian’s eyes fluttered, avoiding hers. He sighed heavily. “Iris, you need to understand… our whole family relies on you. You can’t make such a drastic decision. Look at where we’re living now—my health is improving because of the money, the security. Don’t throw that away. We’re grateful, but…” His voice trailed.

Iris’s heart sank. So even he—her last pillar—was willing to sacrifice her.

She rose from her chair, disappointment tightening her throat. “So you’re all willing to let me sacrifice my peace of mind, my dignity, just to feed your greed?” She shook her head bitterly. “I didn’t come here for your opinion—I already knew you’d never agree. I came to tell you.”

She turned to leave, but Merlene’s voice rang after her like a curse.

“Is this how you repay us? For taking care of you? Your unreliable parents died and we gave you a home. Now you want to turn your back on us?”

Something inside Iris broke. She whirled around, tears streaming, her voice fierce with years of swallowed pain.

“Who was taking care of whom, Aunt?” she demanded. “I sent myself to high school. Most of the money I earned, you took—for your children, for unnecessary things. And I swallowed my pride and kept pushing.”

Her chest heaved. “Do you think I don’t know what you did when I got my scholarship? You went to the school to sabotage me—yet they had my records. They knew my worth. What did I ever do to you to deserve your hate?”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing against the walls. Iris’s tears fell harder, but her voice was steady now—strong.

“I won’t come back here again. I’ve repaid every so-called debt for the roof you gave me. You never fed me. Not once. And I refuse to let your chains hold me any longer.”

Her gaze softened only when it reached Dorian. “Thank you, Uncle. For trying, in your way. But this ends here.”

Then she turned and walked out, the echo of her footsteps ringing with finality.

Iris stepped out of her uncle’s house, clutching Elora’s card between her fingers. She stared at the neat handwriting for a while, hesitation weighing heavily in her chest, then finally dialed the number. Elora picked up immediately, her voice warm and inviting, “Come over, Iris. We have a lot to talk about.”

Not long after, Iris arrived at Elora’s house. The place was breathtaking—modern yet timeless, with tall glass windows that let in streams of sunlight, a cream-colored marble floor polished to perfection, and elegant chandeliers hanging like floating crystals. The air smelled faintly of roses and sandalwood, subtle yet luxurious. Paintings lined the walls, bold but tasteful, and fresh flowers graced every corner, giving life to the grand space.

A maid received Iris, guiding her into the living room where soft velvet sofas, pale gold cushions, and a sleek coffee table reflected understated wealth. “Madam will be down shortly,” the maid said, offering her a chilled glass of sparkling water on a silver tray.

Iris sat nervously, hands clasped together, her eyes wandering over the refined beauty of Elora’s home. Her pulse quickened when she heard footsteps. Soon, Elora descended the grand staircase, perfectly poised, her smile soft but knowing.

“Oh, hi Iris,” Elora greeted, pulling her into a light embrace and a kiss on the cheek before motioning for her to sit.

They settled into the living room, and after a pause, Elora leaned in. “I see you’ve finally decided to leave Aziel.”

Iris only nodded, her throat tightening.

“But,” Elora continued, her tone sharpening, “I heard something else… news that hasn’t been announced yet. Vincent Valen is planning to give you thirty percent of his shares.”

Iris’s brows furrowed in confusion. “No… I wasn’t told anything like that.”

Elora tilted her head, lips curving in a sly smile. “Yes, Iris. And my source is never wrong.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words hanging between them. Then Elora asked, eyes narrowing slightly, “Tell me honestly, Iris—what do you really want? Because looking at you, I can’t shake the feeling that all this is just to show Aziel you’re strong. Which means, if he were to call you back, you’d still run to him.”

Iris straightened, her voice firm though her hands trembled. “No, Elora. I’m not doing this to make him take me back. I just need him to see that he can’t break me… no matter what.”

Elora studied her for a moment, then smiled knowingly. “Good. Then let’s start. Come on, let’s go.”

---

The afternoon turned into a whirlwind. Elora swept Iris out for an entire transformation—shopping for outfits that redefined her style, sharp cuts and flowing fabrics that carried elegance and power. They walked through boutiques with Iris trying on dresses she would never have dared to pick for herself, each one chipping away at the timid shell she had lived in.

They went to a salon where Iris’s hair was cut, styled, and treated until it shone with life. Her nails were painted in a sleek shade, her makeup professionally done, highlighting features she had long neglected. At the spa, her skin was pampered, massaged, and renewed. Perfume counters were their next stop, where Elora insisted Iris choose scents that matched her new aura—bold, alluring, and unforgettable.

Each purchase, each swipe of the card made Iris tense. She whispered at one point, “Elora… this is Aziel’s card. If he finds out, he’ll be furious.”

Elora scoffed, tossing her hair back. “You are his wife, Iris. For six years, you’ve spent nothing on yourself, living like a shadow while he basked in glory. Enough. This is your right, not charity. Now… you’ll start taking what is yours.”

Slowly, Iris nodded, the weight of Elora’s words sinking in.

By the time the transformation was complete, Iris hardly recognized herself. The mirror reflected a woman she had long forgotten—confident, radiant, unafraid. Elora smirked proudly, “We’ve cleaned out the old you. This… this is the new Iris.”

She didn’t even stop there—Elora replaced Iris’s phone with a sleek, latest-model device, symbolic of cutting ties with the past and stepping into her own.

Walking back out into the city, heads turned. People glanced at Iris with admiration and curiosity, some even whispering. For the first time in years, she felt seen—not as Aziel’s shadow, but as herself.

Back at the hospital, Aziel was unraveling. His phone pinged endlessly with notifications of transactions, and his jaw tightened with every alert. “She never spends like this…” he muttered, gripping his pen tightly. “What’s she trying to do? Leave me bankrupt?”

A flare of anger surged, but he forced himself to suppress it. Instead, he leaned back, eyes stormy. Let her have her moment. If she thinks this will shake me, she’s wrong.

Yet, deep down, unease gnawed at him. The Iris he knew was gone.

Imani’s eyes lit up the moment she saw her mother. She gasped so loudly that even the nurses passing in the corridor turned their heads.

“Mummy!” she squealed, tugging at Iris’s hand. “You smell like… like… like a rich boss now!”

Her little nose wrinkled as she leaned closer, sniffing Iris dramatically. “Mm-hmm. No more onions-and-stress smell. Now you smell like money and fancy soap!”

Iris blinked, caught between laughter and embarrassment. She gave Imani a playful nudge. “Onions and stress? Is that what you thought of me before?”

Imani giggled, covering her mouth like she had said the world’s biggest secret. “Mhm. But now you look like those ladies on TV—the ones who say, ‘excuse me, I own the company.’” She folded her arms, imitating a diva pose.

Iris burst out laughing, though a soft ache still sat in her chest. For once, her daughter was glowing with joy instead of worry, and it eased something inside her.

But when Iris turned her head, her laughter caught in her throat.

Aziel was standing by the doorway, silent, his hand still on the knob. His usual sharp words had abandoned him. His gaze trailed slowly from Iris’s heels to the confident poise she didn’t even know she was carrying, and then to her face—where strength and exhaustion mingled like two shadows fighting for dominance.

he looked… speechless.

“Mummy,” Imani whispered loudly enough for both adults to hear, “why is Daddy staring like he saw Beyoncé in real life?”

Iris’s cheeks flamed. “Imani!” she scolded softly, but her daughter only cackled.

Aziel blinked, finally tearing his eyes away. He cleared his throat, straightening his cufflinks though they didn’t need fixing. His voice was lower than usual when he finally spoke. “You… changed.”

Imani giggled again, “Told you she smells like a rich boss now!” She leaned closer to Aziel conspiratorially, whispering, “Don’t worry Daddy, you can smell rich too if you try.”

Aziel almost smiled. Almost. But his gaze slid back to Iris—intense, unreadable, shaken.