"Stop. Just stop this drama, Nafisa," he spat. "You were not a little girl. You were an well educated woman. You knew exactly what you were doing. Don't use these cheap excuses about being young and blind. Don't talk bullshit in front of me."
Ibrahim leaned forward, "You were hungry. Hungry for my father's money. Hungry for a comfortable life. You weren't trapped—you chose it. You knew he had a family. And still you opened the door for him, still you let him in. Do you want me to believe it was just love? No. It was greed. Pure greed. Cheap women like you always find excuses, but the truth is simple—you wanted the easy way, and you destroyed an entire family for it."
His eyes burned into hers as he pointed at her, his voice shaking with anger, "If my father were alive today, I would remind him every damn day what kind of filth he brought into his life. I would make him see what cheating looks like, how betrayal eats away at a home. And you know what, Nafisa? Maybe it's a blessing that he's gone. Maybe his heart gave up because it couldn't carry the dirt of his sins anymore. Because if he were still alive, I would have made sure he saw what hell looks like with his own eyes. That's how much I despise what both of you did. You don't get to wash your sins with tears. Your tears mean nothing to me. Your regret means nothing."
He picked his bag up and hurled it onto the bed beside Nafisa. The heavy brown bag landed with a thud, and Nafisa's eyes flickered toward it, stunned and speechless.
"There—inside that bag is thirty million dollars. Enough to buy a new life anywhere in this world. Europe, America, the Middle East—anywhere. Take it, Nafisa. Pack your things. Go. Disappear from Malaysia. If you ever need more, I can send it. Money won't be a problem. I'll make sure you live comfortable for the rest of your life. But…" he paused, "…you go alone. Without Nayla. YOU WILL NOT TAKE NAYLA WITH YOU."
Nafisa's hands trembled. She blinked fast, unable to believe what she was hearing. "How? How can you even say that? She is my daughter, my only one! I have lived for her! You want me to walk away and leave her here like she means nothing? No! No, Ibrahim, I cannot. I won't!"
Ibrahim's anger burst through. He stood up so fast the chair shifted back, "You took my father from me... So now I will take your daughter from you. Fair trade. At the end of the day, Nayla is my sister too. My step-sister. Why should you be the only one who gets to keep her? I also have the right — no, the opportunity — to take care of her. And trust me, I will."
His lips curved into his usual cruel half-smile. "And do you know how I'll do it? Every night, every morning, I will tell her stories. Sweetly, gently, like a brother should. But in my stories, you will always be the villain. I'll say you trapped our father, framed him, ruined his life. I'll make it sound so real that she will start believing it. I'll make new stories every day — and Nayla will eat them up. You know why?" He gave another short, bitter laugh. "Because children love stories. They love hearing secrets."
He leaned down slightly. "By the time I'm done, she will think you're worse than the devil. She will hate you so much that even the thought of your face will disgust her. And one day, when you beg her to see you, she will turn her back and say — 'No. That woman is not my mother. She's a liar, a cheater, a disgrace.'"
Ibrahim straightened again, "Then you will understand how it feels to have your family poisoned against you — the same way you poisoned mine. Don't worry, I'll raise her well."
He buttoned his coat and started to leave. But before he could reach the door, Nafisa stumbled out of the bed and rushed toward him. She grabbed his arm with trembling hands.
"Ibrahim, please… don't do this," she begged, "Where will I go without Nayla? She's all I have—she's my only hope to live. Without her… I'm nothing. Please, I beg you… don't take her away from me. I'll do anything you ask.… just don't separate me from Nayla. Don't make her suffer for my mistakes. Where will she go without me? Where will I go without her?"
Ibrahim's jaw clenched. He tore his arm free with a violent jerk, "Don't you dare touch me with your hands. You have until tonight to be gone. If you are not gone—then don't be surprised by what you find."
He turned slowly, his eyes falling to the ceiling fan above them, "YOU'LL FIND NAYLA'S DEAD BODY HANGING FROM THAT FAN—LIFELESS, SWINGING."
Nafisa's eyes widened in horror as she instinctively followed his gaze to the fan. The picture he painted was too cruel to even imagine.
Ibrahim slipped on his sunglasses and stepped out of the house. Just as he reached for the car handle, a hurried voice called out—
"Brother Ibi."
He turned, and there she was. Nayla was holding a chilled bottle of drink in one hand and a large packet in the other.
He adjusted his glasses, "Got an emergency call, Nayla. I need to leave quickly."
Nayla's lips curled into a sad pout. She lifted the packet toward him, almost as if offering her whole heart.
"But… I bought all this for you."
For a moment, Ibrahim froze. Something in her innocence pressed at the edges of his cold heart. "Okay… I see. Thank you for this. It's very thoughtful of you. Now, you go home and eat all of this. That will make me happy."
Her eyes lit up instantly, the sadness disappearing as if it was never there. "Really? Will you come again? I'll wait, I'll keep something ready next time too."
"Sure. If I get time anytime soon." Ibrahim opened the car door and sat inside, resting one hand on the steering wheel. Before driving off, he reached beside him and took out a glossy red-and-gold box of chocolates.. He leaned out of the car window and held it toward her. "Here. A little gift from me. I hope you'll love."
She grabbed the box with both hands, pressing it to her chest, "Thank you. Thank you so much! I'll eat it slowly, one piece a day, so it lasts longer."
"Good girl. That's what I wanted to hear. Now go home."
Nayla happily walked into the house. The first thing she noticed was her mother, Nafisa was standing near the door frame of the bedroom. She wasn't moving much, just looking up at the ceiling fan with a blank face.
"Mummy! Why are you standing there? Come, sit on the bed. You must be tired."
Nayla didn't wait for an answer and went straight to the kitchen. She placed the packet on the counter and began opening it.
"Mom, guess what!" she called out from the kitchen, "I bought mango–flavoured pastries for Brother Ibi, but since he left so quickly, it's just us now. We have to finish them together. And see—" she raised the shiny chocolate box with a grin, "he even gave me chocolates! A whole big box! He's so nice, isn't he?"
She carefully put the pastries onto a small plate, her hands moving fast because she couldn't wait to show her mother.
"Can you hear me, Mummy? Why aren't you saying anything?"
Still silence.
She walked back to the room slowly, balancing the pastries and the two glasses of drink carefully in her hands with a smile on face.
But the moment she stepped inside, her smile froze.
The tray in her hand shook badly. In the next second, everything slipped. The pastries fell to the floor, the drinks spilled and spread like dark patches on the old mat.
Above the bed, swinging gently with the creak of the ceiling fan, was her mother's body.
Nafisa was hanging in mid-air. A long rope cut harshly into her neck, holding her there like some cruel puppet. Her head tilted to one side. Her eyes were wide open—bloodshot, lifeless—and her tongue had slipped out of her mouth, stretching past her lips.
There was a gap between her mother's bare feet and the bed beneath. Not just an inch, but almost a whole arm's length of air. She was hanging. COMPLETELY.
Nayla's hands flew to her mouth. She stumbled backward step by step, until her back slammed against the cold wall. She pressed herself there, trembling, as if the wall was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
The stool that once carried Nafisa's weight had toppled over sideways on the mattress, as if it too had been thrown into silence after witnessing the act.
The sound of the fan groaning above, carrying her mother's weight, filled the entire room. It was the only sound. No birds outside. No cars passing by. Only that horrible, endless creak… and the image of her mother hanging lifeless.
Nayla ran out of the house. She waved her hands wildly, pointed toward her house, her face pale and wet with tears. Neighbours, who were used to her shy greetings every day, had never seen her like this. Her panic was enough—without words—to make them rush inside.
In moments, the quiet quarter was filled with hurried footsteps and anxious voices. Some neighbours ran into the small house, some stayed outside, whispering. A few men reached for Nafisa's lifeless legs, pulling her down gently, as if still hoping she would breathe again. They placed her on the bed. Someone pressed their fingers to her wrist, searching for a pulse that was no longer there. Another leaned close to her eyes, only to step back slowly.
Nayla came inside again and stood by the wall. Just a moment ago, she was happy. And now, her life had shifted into something she couldn't name. It takes only minutes for the world to collapse, only one moment for everything familiar to break.
Neighbours whispered, some covered Nafisa with a cloth, others tried to calm Nayla, but she felt far away from them all. She felt like she was watching life from behind a glass wall, unable to touch or change anything.
Among the neighbours was a woman — Madam Aida, Nafisa's colleague. She lived only two houses away and had always been kind to them. While others tried to comfort Nayla, Madam Aida noticed Nafisa's phone lying on the study table. She picked it up, and her eyes grew sharp after reading something. She walked to Nayla and held the phone out gently.
"Nayla, see this."
Nayla turned her head slowly. On the screen was a message. "If you can't pay the money in ten days, I will burn your home."
"Mom… mom did this because of debt?" Her lips trembled, her hands pressed against her chest. The neighbours only exchanged worried looks. For them, it was just a message. For Nayla, it was a cruel explanation for why her mother had chosen death instead of staying.
She pushed her way through the crowd and fell beside the bed, right next to her mother's still form.
"Mummy… Mummy…"
She cupped Nafisa's cheeks with both hands. The skin was still warm, as if her mother was only sleeping. That tiny warmth gave Nayla a fragile hope. Tears rolled down her face and fell on Nafisa's lifeless face. She kissed her mother's forehead, her closed eyes, her lips, whispering through broken sobs, "Wake up, Mummy… please wake up."
Her voice grew desperate, louder, shaking Nafisa's face gently. "Mummy, please don't leave me. I will work, I promise. I'll do anything. I'll pay all the debts, I'll take every burden, just don't leave me alone. You don't have to worry anymore, I'll take care of everything! Just open your eyes once… just look at me, mummy!"
A woman placed a hand on Nayla's shoulder, trying to pull her away. "Child… accept it. What's done is done." Another voice muttered, "Call the police. This has to be settled legally."
Meanwhile Aida stepped out of the crowded house. She slipped into the narrow lane beside Nafisa's house, where the walls were close together and the smell of damp clothes and dust filled the space. The lane was almost empty except for a broken bicycle leaning on one wall and a stray dog sleeping in the corner.
She looked around once, making sure no one was paying attention, then took out her phone.
Far away, Ibrahim was driving his car. His left hand rested lazily on the steering wheel, fingers tapping against it. His right hand was on the gear, moving smoothly as the car glided forward. The window was half-open, letting in the hot breeze. Ibrahim didn't bother holding the phone to his ear—he pressed the speaker button and placed it on the seat beside him.
"Sir, I have done what you asked. Now people are calling the police. Soon they will come to investigate."
"Good. Nafisa did exactly what I wanted. The moment police come, they will see a weak story… a poor woman crushed under debt. And they will believe it."
Ibrahim pressed the horn lightly as another car slowed in front of him.
"And Nayla? How is she behaving?"
"Nayla is so heartbroken, sir. She keeps crying and begging her to wake up. She says she will pay all the debt by herself."
"Hmm. Let her cry. Tears will make her weaker… and weak people are easier to guide." His grip on the wheel tightened. "When the police come, keep up with the story. Tell them about the debt. Tell them there was a man who kept harassing Nafisa… a man who came to her house again and again. Say she took her life because she couldn't handle it anymore."
"Sir… if police ask who the debt collector was?"
"Give them any name. A ghost man. Someone who never existed. They will chase the air for months. By the time they realize there is no one, the case will be dust. Forgotten. I know how to paint the story until it looks real. Do not hesitate now. Keep repeating the same story. Make the neighbors believe it. Children grow stronger when they are broken young. Don't waste your pity. You will receive a good payment. Enough for your son's treatment. That is my promise. And one thing: my bag will be on the bed. Move it somewhere else before the police arrive."
The line went silent.
Only Ibrahim knew how to break a person's spirit. He was a master at finding what someone feared most and using it against them. He could twist a happy memory into something sad and make a strong person feel completely alone. He left his victims with only one key, and it always fit the same lock.