The sound of the clock ticking filled the room, a maddening reminder of the silence that enveloped Rehema's life. She sat at the kitchen table, absently stirring a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Her eyes flicked toward the door, hoping—yet dreading—that Ali would walk in.
When the lock finally clicked, she braced herself. Ali stepped inside, the faint scent of perfume on his clothes.
"You're late," Rehema said quietly, her voice devoid of anger but heavy with disappointment.
Ali tossed his keys onto the counter. "I told you I'd be late."
"You didn't tell me you'd be unreachable," she replied, standing up to face him. "Do you even care how worried I was?"
He shrugged. "I'm a grown man, Rehema. I don't need to check in every hour."
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "This isn't about checking in, Ali. It's about respect! Do you even realize what I go through every day, carrying your child, taking care of this house, and worrying about where you are?"
Ali sighed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "And here we go again. The same old lecture. You think you're the only one struggling? I work all day to provide for this family, and all I get in return is complaints."
Rehema's voice rose, her emotions spilling over. "Providing? Is that what you call it? Throwing money at a problem while ignoring everything else? I don't need your money, Ali. I need your presence, your support, your love!"
Ali scoffed, his tone cold. "Maybe if you were more like her, I'd feel more inclined to come home."
Her breath hitched, his words cutting deeper than any knife. "Her? You mean the woman you've been seeing behind my back?"
Ali froze, realizing he'd said too much. "I didn't mean—"
"Don't lie to me!" Rehema shouted, her voice trembling. "I'm not stupid, Ali. I've seen the messages, the late nights, the way you avoid me. How long has this been going on?"
He looked away, his silence confirming everything.
Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "Do you even love me anymore?"
Ali's jaw tightened. "I don't know, Rehema. Maybe I love the idea of you—the woman I married. But the person you've become…" He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Rehema couldn't breathe. Her chest felt like it was caving in. She stumbled back, clutching the edge of the table for support.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with Aunt Laila's name. Without thinking, she grabbed it and pressed it to her ear.
"Auntie…" her voice broke.
"Rehema? What's wrong, my dear?" Aunt Laila's concerned voice was a balm to her shattered heart.
"I can't do this anymore," Rehema sobbed. "I feel like I'm drowning, and Ali… he doesn't care."
"Listen to me," Aunt Laila said firmly. "You are stronger than this pain. Don't let him or anyone else break you. If you need to leave, even for a little while, come to me. My door is always open."
Rehema nodded, though Aunt Laila couldn't see her. "Thank you, Auntie. I just… I need time to think."
Ali watched her, his expression unreadable. "So, now you're calling for backup? What, you're going to run to your aunt and tell her how horrible I am?"
Rehema wiped her tears, her gaze fierce. "No, Ali. I'm not running. I'm finding a way to survive. Because if I stay here and keep pretending that everything is fine, I'll lose myself completely."
He laughed bitterly. "Drama suits you, Rehema."
Her voice was steady, determined. "And cowardice suits you, Ali. But I refuse to let your choices define me anymore."
---
The Quiet Resolve
That night, as Ali slept on the couch, Rehema sat by the crib she'd assembled alone. She ran her fingers over the tiny blankets, her heart heavy but resolute.
She whispered softly, "I don't know how, but I'll make it through this. For you, little one. And for me."
---
"Strength isn't found in the absence of pain but in the decision to rise despite it."