Ibrahim rose early the next morning, his mind whirring with a muddle of emotions. He knew his mother liked to take a morning walk down at the beach, and he planned to join her for a moment alone: anxious to speak to her in private. He was hopeful she wouldn’t be putting on the ‘everything is perfect’ façade that she had been with Willow. He was hopeful she’d be real with him.

All his life, Ibrahim and his mother had had a close relationship, one that existed in exchanged glances and body language to communicate everything they needed to. Often, as a child, he’d been able to communicate his displeasure with his father with just a twitch of his nose or a shrug of his shoulder.

“Your father loves you very much,” his mother would tell him, tucking him into bed. “He just has a funny way of showing it, sometimes. You have to accept him the way he is.”

Ibrahim saw his mother at the edge of the pier as he approached. Her maroon robes flapped around her in the wind, making her look majestic and wild, and her black hair swirled out from the scarf she’d tied over it in little tentacle-like tendrils. As she spun around toward him, she waved a hand, gesturing for him to approach.

When he reached her, she slipped her arm through his, drawing him closer. “You know you can tell me anything that’s on your mind, Ibrahim. I am always here for you, my son.”

But Ibrahim’s heart hammered, knowing he couldn’t tell her. Not this time. He’d been tossing and turning all night with the decision he’d made: to con her into thinking he was truly in love.

Confusingly, his heart had also begun to stir with lust, longing, desire for Willow: a woman he had been fully prepared to kick out of his life only days previously. He’d grown fond of the way she and his mother communicated. And the way Amira smiled at his fake fiancée? It made him feel elated and horrible, all at once.

“It’s nothing,” Ibrahim said. “I just wanted a moment alone with you. Not to say I didn’t want Willow here…”

Amira put a hand in his and guided him down the beach, kicking off her shoes so that she could dig her toes into the sand. Water lapped up beside them, still calm in the light of the morning.

“She really is a lovely girl, Ibrahim,” Amira sighed. “I couldn’t have picked someone better for you to spend the rest of your life with. She’s genuine and kind and loyal—not to mention, extremely beautiful. I imagine you and Willow have many laughs together. She seems the type to lighten any mood.”

Ibrahim thought back to the night before, when they’d ordered a banquet of food and cackled at jokes that meant nothing and were forgotten moments later. It was a different way to live: one that didn’t reflect his time back in Houston. Certainly, Willow was a far cry from the models he normally filled his time with. He was usually eager to kick them from his bed, from his life. On to the next one.

“She is,” Ibrahim answered, nodding slowly. “I can’t believe how lucky I got.”

“I’m just so happy you’ve found someone to settle down with, my son. My relationship with your father was the single greatest gift of my life,” Amira continued.

Ibrahim stopped for a moment, peering into his mother’s face. She’d aged without him noticing, her skin now lined with fine wrinkles.

“I struggle with that, Mother. To me, he wasn’t the kindest man. He was constantly laying down rules. Pushing us to be people we didn’t want to be. And all for appearances.”

“He was certainly quite authoritarian around you boys,” Amira agreed, her lips pressing firmly together. “But I think he softened as he grew older. Certainly, his relationship with you would have improved, if you’d stayed…”

Ibrahim felt a wave of guilt flow through him. He clung tighter to his mother’s hand, wishing he could go back to a different reality. Wishing he could take back the decision to go, if only to see what could have been. Could he have made a life in Rebai? Could he have become the son his father had really wanted?

“But whatever happened, happened,” Amira continued, her voice softening. “And we’re left with the future to mold, aren’t we? As far as the love I had with your father, I know only that I never felt more like myself than when we were together. And I miss him the way I might miss an arm or a leg. I know you’ll feel the same way about Willow one day. Maybe you already do. I can see it in your eyes.”

Ibrahim gave her a crooked smile, wanting to speak up, to tell her how wrong she was. But he bit at his lip, his head swimming with sudden emotion. Maybe his mother knew his heart better than he did. An image of Willow laughing at his joke the night before filled his brain, giving him pause.

“You’re a remarkable son, Ibrahim. And you’ve found the perfect person to spend your life with,” Amira said, noting his silence. “I wouldn’t worry about anything else, until you need to. Things tend to fall into place the way they’re meant to. And you know that you always have my love, no matter what.”

Ibrahim’s eyes flickered away from his mother’s. For the first time since they’d arrived in Rebai, he felt the true weight of his guilt. Conning his mother into the belief he’d have a wife, and one day, children? What kind of son was he?

“I know. You’re right, Mother. And you always have mine,” Ibrahim heard himself say as he raked a hand through his hair and sighed inwardly.

He was already too far down this path; he knew he couldn’t return.

If only he could take it all back.