How loved I was.

"You want to be a what Dad?" Mirium eyed me as if I suddenly had three heads.

The room was split between concern and confusion. It seemed as if everyone had just learned that I’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

I let the silence fill the space and waited a while, until it became solid and the weight of it came crushing upon me.

“An actor,” I looked outside the window at the waning sun, not wanting to meet their gazes yet.

The tantalizing smell of kebabs and the sweet aroma of kheer wafted from the kitchen where the servants were busy preparing the Eid-day feast. Ali and Ahmed, the twins, exchanged furtive glances, both waiting for the other to speak first.

I stared at the framed picture of me and Noor with our four kids on the wall and then turned to look at the life-size painting of Noor encased in a gold frame on the opposite wall. I’m not sure what I had expected when I commissioned the best painter I could find to paint it after the funeral last year, but it only added to my loneliness and restlessness whenever I looked at it.

Before another awkward silence could stretch too long, things exploded into chaos as a mob of my grandkids entered the room shouting and screaming, playing cops and robbers. For a while it became difficult to hear what Reham was trying to say over their laughter and chatter, her brow furrowed.  

It was the perfect moment, with the whole family gathered at the house for the celebrations. The perfect plan. All that remained now was perfect execution.

“Go and play in the other room,” Reham scolded the children. “Is this some sort of midlife crisis?” Reham shifted restlessly in her seat and spoke when things returned to quiet.

I raised my hands, palms up in exasperation. "With your mother gone, I have had some time to reflect on my life,” I spoke softly. “I've established a successful business. I've given you guys a good education and a good life. Now that you're all grown up and have your own lives and careers, I want to spend some time doing what I think I'll enjoy."

When the room finally believed what they were hearing, the reactions shifted between furrowed brows and nervous fidgeting. They were incredulous.

I was always a man of few words, but today, I chose what I said even more carefully. I was widely known as a shrewd businessman and had established a chain of successful clothing stores in the city, but it was time for me to embark on a new odyssey now.

I loved my kids, dearly so, I was a doting father. But I wanted to know if they loved me as much as I loved them before this new chapter of my life began. This was a question I had never pondered, a question that never occurred to me until Noor left me unexpectedly last year.

Even as I sat there, I reminisced every special moment I had spent with my kids. Ali and Ahmed’s first bicycles and teaching them how to ride. The moments spent reading bedtime stories to Mirium and Reham. Memories swirled around me like a whirlpool, and I felt my eyes come moist.  

"You think this would make you happy? What do you even know about acting?" Reham rolled her eyes as she placed her tea on the table.

“You all know it has been a lifelong passion, something I could never make time for between you, your mother, and the business. I admit I know nothing about acting. That’s why I have enrolled in an acting school in the US, I have a flight in the morning”

Furrowed brows turned into unmasked scowls.

“Who gets the business?” spoke Ahmad finally, with the rest of them still staring at me, mouths agape.

There it is, I thought. The moment of truth.  

 “I’ve set up for a business to be managed by a trust. Your uncle will handle the transition,” I sipped my coffee, perusing their faces. “The profits will go to a couple of charities I have handpicked.”

“And we get nothing?” Reham looked at her siblings for support.  

“What about the cars and the house?” Ali bit his lip nervously.

“This is all ridiculous,” Ahmed huffed, before getting up from his chair and storming out.

At that moment, I felt utterly alone, abandoned, but also liberated, unshackled. I had tried my best to be the best husband and an even better father, but it seemed as if the only person I had failed, was me.

Mirium, Ali, and Reham stayed for dinner, but the atmosphere remained awkward and frosty. Even the goodbyes were distant, with none of the usual hugging and kissing, not even the shaking of a hand or a nod and a smile.

Late at night, as I lit a cigar, I called my lawyer and went over the details of how the business and assets will be divided equally among the four of them. Everything was taken care of, right down to minor details. All I was taking with me was a year of living expenses in the US, the fee of the acting school already paid.

While packing my bags, I remembered what Noor used to say every time I told her I wished I could have been an actor. I used to say it almost as a joke, having given up on a dream I thought was lost and didn’t bother me anymore, because I had a loving family and four kids to raise. “It’s never too late,” she used to encourage me, and these four words were all she ever said on the subject.

I never took her seriously though, not until I held her hand that dark, overcast night and her last, trembling words awoke in me a sleeping colossus. The words that had instilled in me the courage to start anew, do something that makes me happy, and embark on a new journey. “Live your life for yourself now,” she kissed my hand as I held hers, “Do what you always wanted to do. It’s never too late.”

I knew then, how loved I was, as I knew now, how loved I was. I wasn’t leaving with a heavy heart, because I knew I was leaving nothing behind.