Rehema sat by the window, gazing out at the sun rising over the city. The soft light bathed the room, casting a gentle glow that felt almost like a promise. But promises, she had learned, were fragile things. She no longer relied on the promises of others—least of all Ali.
Her mind wandered back to Mama's words. "You are not alone in this. You have your family, your strength, and your own worth." They had echoed in her ears long after Mama had left the room. Could she really begin to rebuild her life? Could she learn to love herself and create the life she always imagined—independent, full of strength, and on her own terms?
She wasn't sure. But today, she was going to try.
Ali had come home late the night before, just like always, his eyes cold and distant. Rehema hadn't even bothered to ask where he had been. It wasn't worth it. She had stopped asking long ago. Instead, she had turned her focus inward. The first few days had been difficult—there were moments when she longed to run after him, to beg him to change, to beg him to see her. But now, she wasn't so sure it would even help.
She heard the faint cries of the baby in the other room and immediately rose to check on him. The two-month-old boy lay in his crib, squirming as his tiny face scrunched in distress. Rehema gently picked him up, the warmth of his body against her chest grounding her, reminding her that her purpose had never just been to hold together a broken marriage. Her purpose was to raise her child, to be strong for him, and to find a way to make her life whole again.
---
The day stretched before her, long and empty in its own way. She had the house to herself for most of it, with Ali often absent. He had come home that morning, but he was already gone again, off to some new affair, or perhaps just to avoid her. Either way, it no longer mattered.
She needed to focus on herself.
The thought was strange to her, like a new concept she hadn't yet fully grasped. Focus on yourself? For so long, she had been so absorbed in trying to make Ali happy, to fix their marriage, to live up to the expectations of his family. But who was Rehema outside of that?
She felt a pang of sadness, but also an unfamiliar kind of relief.
---
Rehema walked into the kitchen and took a deep breath. It was time to make a change. She had already taken the first step—accepting that she couldn't keep living in the shadows of Ali's neglect. But now, she needed to focus on herself. What did she want? She had no idea. But she was determined to find out.
Her aunt's words echoed in her mind as well. Rashida had always been the one to remind her of her potential. "Don't let anyone define you, Rehema," her aunt had told her many times. "You were born to do great things. Don't lose yourself for someone else."
Great things. The words felt distant now, but Rehema held on to them. There had to be more for her than this.
---
Later that afternoon, Rehema stood in front of the mirror again, this time not to inspect the weariness in her eyes but to look at herself with a new perspective. She didn't know exactly what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a spark of something. Hope. It wasn't about Ali anymore. It wasn't even about them.
She looked down at the baby, now asleep in her arms, and whispered softly to him, "We'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."
---
A Week Later
The baby was growing fast, and with each passing day, Rehema became more attuned to his needs. But as the days stretched on, she also realized that she couldn't keep going on the way she had. She had to make money, had to find a way to stand on her own two feet. The idea of being financially independent had always been a far-off dream, something that felt too big for her. But now, it seemed like the only way forward.
She remembered the baking college her aunt had taken her to. Rashida had always encouraged her to pursue something for herself, to use her talents. Rehema could bake—she'd always been able to. But had she ever considered making a career out of it? The thought had never crossed her mind.
Until now.
---
Rehema took a deep breath, clutching her phone as she dialed Rashida's number. She was nervous—what if she failed? What if she wasn't good enough? But she had to try.
Rashida picked up on the second ring, her voice warm and familiar. "Rehema, my love, what's going on?"
"I've been thinking about something," Rehema said, her voice trembling slightly. "I want to do something for myself. I want to learn how to bake professionally. Maybe even start my own business. I've been thinking about it for days."
Rashida's voice brightened. "I knew you'd come to that decision, my dear. You have such a gift. I'll help you however I can. I believe in you."
Rehema closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her aunt's words settle in her heart. "I believe in you."
It was time to believe in herself.
---
That night, after putting the baby to bed, Rehema sat at her small desk, writing out a plan. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was something. She would start small—baking cakes and pastries for friends and family. She would save up, build a name for herself, and slowly work towards opening a small bakery. It wouldn't be easy, and there would be obstacles along the way. But it was hers.
It was a path forward. And for the first time in a long while, Rehema felt something she hadn't felt in years. Excitement.
---
"Sometimes, the hardest part of moving forward is accepting that you don't need to fix everything at once. Small steps, steady steps—each one is a victory. Trust yourself enough to take them."