BLOODLINE CHRONICLE: A MAFIA FATHER'S JOURNEY

CHAPTER 06: REMEMBER YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WE HAVE

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The sun hung low in the sky as Amira and Khadija hurried home from school. They had begun returning from school on their own, laughter filling the air as they ran, chasing each other. School bags swung wildly behind them, their report cards clutched tightly in their hands.

Arriving at home, their faces lit up with excitement as they dashed through the front door, shoes scuffing against the worn-out carpet.

In the kitchen, Hakimi and Akashi were preparing dinner—masgouf, a traditional Iraqi dish of grilled fish, paired with tashreeb, a stew soaked with bread and vegetables. The savory aroma filled the small house, a rare moment of warmth and peace amidst the tension that had been building for weeks.

"Dad! Kashi!" Khadija called, her voice bubbling with happiness as she and Amira burst into the kitchen. "Look at our results!"

Both girls held out their report cards with pride, and Hakimi, wiping his hands on a towel, eagerly took them. His eyes scanned the cards, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"You both scored first in your classes!" he exclaimed, beaming with pride.

Amira giggled and nodded. "We did it, Dad! We worked really hard!"

Hakimi’s chest swelled with pride, the weight of his struggles momentarily forgotten as he looked at his daughters. "I’m so proud of both of you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Kashi, take this," he added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some money. "Go buy juice—tamar hindi or qamar al-din, something the girls will enjoy. We need to celebrate!"

Kashi nodded and took the money, heading out to get the drinks. For a brief moment, everything felt normal—happy, even.

When Kashi returned, they all sat down at the small dining table, the grilled fish steaming in front of them, the drinks chilled, and the girls' laughter filling the room. It was a simple but joyful meal, a rare escape from the heavy burdens that often clouded their home.

As they ate, Khadija, in her usual candid manner, spoke up. "Daddy," she said, looking down at her plate, "I won’t be able to go to the next class unless we pay my school fees from last term."

The joy at the table faltered, and a heavy silence filled the air. Hakimi’s heart sank, the reality of his situation crashing down on him once more. Akashi noticed his father's sudden change of mood and threw a reprimanding look at his sister. Before Hakimi could say anything, Akashi, always the protective older brother, spoke up.

"Khadija, don’t worry," he said with a reassuring smile. "When I get my next salary, I’ll pay your fees. You’ll go to the next class."

Hakimi felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He looked at his son, who was far too young to carry such burdens. His hands tightened around his fork as frustration flickered in his chest.

"No, Kashi, Hakimi said, trying to keep his voice steady. You’ve worked hard enough. Use your salary for your own school fees. I will take care of Khadija and Amira's fees."

Akashi frowned slightly and shook his head. "Dad, I can—"

"I said I’ll take care of it," Hakimi interrupted, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. He hated seeing his son—still a child—bearing responsibilities that should have been his alone. Akashi looked older than his age, worn down by long nights of working odd jobs and trying to help the family make ends meet.

Hakimi softened his tone. "I’ve gotten a job, son. I’ll take care of things from now on. You focus on yourself, your school, and your future."

There was a moment of silence before Akashi finally nodded, though his eyes still showed concern. "Alright, Dad," the words came out grudgingly.

Hakimi let out a small sigh of relief, grateful that the conversation hadn't escalated further. "Khadija and Amira," he said, turning to his daughters with a gentle smile, "While we're out working, you both keep praying for us, okay? Pray that everything works out." He grinned, showing his teeth.

Khadija nodded eagerly, clasping her hands together, eyes full of innocence. "I’ll pray, Daddy. I’ll pray every day." She smiled at him.

The evening passed quietly after that, with the family finishing their meal and preparing for bed. The weight of Hakimi’s decision to work for Riqqo was still heavy in his mind, but for now, he focused on the small moment of peace he had with his children, as no one could tell what would happen the next moment...

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A few minutes past eleven, Hakimi still sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes void of sleep. The house was silent. He was deep in thought, his mind racing with the risks of the job he had agreed to take. Could he really go through with it? Could he keep this secret from his children?

A soft knock on the door broke his train of thought. Akashi stepped into the room, his expression serious and a little hesitant.

"Dad?" Akashi said quietly. "Can I talk to you?"

Hakimi looked up, surprised. "Of course. Come in."

Akashi walked over and sat beside his father, his gaze steady but filled with questions. "You know..." he began, "I’ve been thinking, seriously thinking." He paused and bit his lip.

"Thinking about what?" Hakimi asked, running a hand through his son's long hair.

"Okay, I just want to know, it’s fine if you don’t want to let me know, but... what job did you get?"

Hakimi’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t expected this. He stared at his son, struggling to find the right words. Akashi had grown up so fast—too fast. He had begun to notice things, to understand the struggles his father was going through. Hakimi had hoped to shield him from all of this, but it seemed that Kashi was more perceptive than he’d realized.

"Why do you ask?" Hakimi finally said, trying to keep his voice even.

Akashi shrugged slightly, though his eyes remained fixed on his father. "I just want to know. You’ve been struggling to get a job, and you told us when you get one, you’ll let us know. But you never mentioned getting a job before today, and I know things have been tough. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Dad. I just... I want to know."

Hakimi’s throat tightened. He stared at Akashi speechless, wondering how his son had matured so quickly, how he had come to bear the weight of their family’s struggles on his shoulders.

After a long pause, Hakimi finally spoke. "Akashi," he said, his voice soft but firm, "you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve gotten a job, and soon things will be better. You won’t have to carry these burdens anymore. I promise."

Akashi’s eyes remained searching, as if trying to read between the lines of his father’s words. Finally, he nodded, though the concern in his gaze didn’t fade.

"I just want you to be safe, Dad," Akashi said quietly. "I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re the only one we’ve got."

Hakimi’s heart clenched, and he looked away, unable to meet his son’s eyes. "Don’t worry about me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Akashi reached out and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, his touch gentle but filled with an understanding beyond his years. "I’ll pray for you, Dad. Just like you told Khadija to pray for us. I’ll pray that everything will be alright."

Hakimi’s chest tightened, and he nodded, unable to speak. As Akashi left the room, closing the door softly behind him, Hakimi sat in the darkness, the weight of his choices pressing down on him more heavily than ever before... Was this a sign?

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