MUHAMMAD IMRAN

Imran sat in the airport lounge, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He sent another text to Jadwa, his mind buzzing with unease about the current crisis. Who could she be talking to? The thought tugged at him, even as he impatiently waited for his pilot to arrive.

"Sir, we can charter another plane," his personal assistant suggested, his voice calm yet measured.

Imran didn't bother to look up. His eyes, cold and drained of patience, remained fixed on his phone. He took a deliberate sip of water, trying to mask his frustration, then leaned back and closed his eyes. The waiting gnawed at him, a relentless tick of time, until his phone buzzed in his hand.

His heart leaped. Relief washed over him like a cool tide. Jadwa. It must be Jadwa. Her voice was the only thing that could soothe this storm within him.

But as he glanced at the screen, disappointment settled heavily in his chest. Fatima's name flashed instead.

"Hello, Fati," he answered, his voice steady but lacking warmth.

"Ya Muhammad, good morning," she greeted, her tone casual but with a faint edge he couldn't place.

"Good morning, Fati. How are you?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation light despite the unease building in his gut.

"I'm good. Have you landed in Maiduguri?" she asked, and his brows furrowed. How did she know?

"I'm delayed—waiting on my pilot. Is everything okay?" he replied, his voice sharpening as he caught the faintest tremor in hers. "What's going on? Chat to me."

Fatima hesitated, then said, "I brought Jadwa to the hospital."

Imran shot upright, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "The hospital?" His voice dropped, urgent.

Fatima's next words cut through him like ice. "She's currently having an active miscarriage."

He froze. The noise of the bustling lounge dulled to a distant hum. "Miscarriage?" he repeated. "Subhanallah! What do you mean?"

His mind raced as he stood abruptly, motioning to his assistant to grab his briefcase.

"She slipped in the bathroom and started cramping. She called me, and by the time I got there, she'd already passed out," Fatima explained, her voice steady but tinged with worry.

Imran's grip on the phone tightened as a cold sweat broke out on his neck. "What's happening to her now?" he demanded, pushing past the door his driver held open. He yanked open the driver's door himself and slid in. "Is she awake?"

"They're performing a D&C procedure. She wasn't strong enough to miscarry naturally," Fatima said, her voice firm but heavy.

"Are you at Maitama?" he asked, his words clipped as his foot pressed hard on the accelerator.

"Yes, seventh floor—Obstetrics," she replied.

Imran hung up without another word.

Whatever the usual drive time from the airport to Maitama was, Imran halved it. His car tore through the city streets, the roar of the engine matching the chaos inside him. Thankfully, the roads were mercifully clear.

When he reached the towering hospital building, he barely waited for the car to stop before getting out. His long strides carried him through the entrance and toward the elevators. Seventh floor. Obstetrics.

Every second stretched, every step heavier with dread, as he climbed toward his wife—the woman who was his peace, now caught in a storm he hadn't seen coming.

As the elevator doors slid open on the seventh floor, Imran stepped into the lounge and immediately spotted Fatima seated, dressed in her scrubs.

"Fati," he called, his tone steady despite the storm within.

She stood, smoothing her scrubs, and offered a faint smile. "You're here so fast."

"How is she?" he asked, his voice betraying the tension he tried to suppress. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful echo.

"The procedure is done. She's resting now," Fatima replied softly.

"What room?"

"The private VIP wing. Room 3," she said, gesturing toward the hallway.

Imran stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as though trying not to disturb the stillness. It was a spacious en-suite, but his focus wasn't on the luxurious decor. His eyes were drawn to the bed where Jadwa lay asleep, her figure fragile, her complexion pale. An IV was attached to her arm, the rhythmic drip of the fluid the only sound apart from her soft breathing. Her face, serene in repose, seemed untouched by the pain her body had endured. For a fleeting moment, she appeared entirely at peace, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him.

He lingered by the doorway, mesmerized. Her beauty was something he never took for granted. The delicate curve of her features, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath—it all seemed impossibly perfect. He stepped closer, noticing a few strands of her red curls slipping out from beneath her silk scarf. With a tenderness that only he could inspire, he reached out, tucking the strands back in place. Leaning down, he pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead, followed by another on her lips, careful not to wake her.

A faint knock on the door broke the spell, and Imran turned just as Fatima peeked in. Her expression was hesitant, as if she knew her presence was an unwelcome intrusion.

"Ya Muhammad," she began softly, her voice tinged with unease. "I just ran into Rahma's mom. She mentioned she saw you walk in."

Imran sighed, his shoulders sagging. The last thing he wanted was an encounter, especially not with Maman Rahma.

"They're in the sitting room," Fatima added, offering him a tight-lipped smile that spoke volumes. She understood his reluctance but could do little to shield him.

Closing the door gently behind him, Imran walked into the sitting room, where two women sat on the leather couches. Khayrah greeted him with a polite nod, but it was Maman Rahma who spoke first, her words cutting through the air with the sharpness of a blade.

"She had a miscarriage," she announced, her tone a mixture of mockery and condescension.

Maman Rahma leaned forward, slapping her lap in an exaggerated display of concern. "I knew this would happen," she said, shaking her head dramatically.

Imran's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"Just the other day, Hajjo and I lectured her to take things easy. Cikin farko ba a mai haka! First pregnancies are very delicate," she continued, her voice tinged with a self-satisfied tone.

He listened, unmoving, but her words were needles pricking his composure. They knew. His stepmother knew. Khayrah knew. His family knew, her family probably did too, Yet he didn't. The realization burned, and in his mind, he began piecing together the timeline, calculating when his stepmother and Jadwa had last been together.

"Haba, fisabilillah," she pressed on, her voice grating. "Ni da Hajjo sai da muka mata magana, ta dena aiki da wahala da guje guje da danyen ciki She shouldn't have been running around with a delicate pregnancy like that." She shook her head dramatically "Yan Matan yanzu basa ji, they think they can handle everything or their phones can teach them"

Imran remained stone-faced, while Fatima shifted awkwardly, clearly looking for an escape as she slipped out of the room.

"Is she awake?" Khayrah asked hesitantly, breaking the silence that had grown heavy with Imran's disinterest.

"No, she's sleeping," he replied flatly, pulling out his phone to send a message to Sadiq and Ibrahim to check on the factory's progress.

Maman Rahma wasn't done. "Send our regards to her," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "And next time, please tell her to be more careful. Ka tsaya mata tsaye! tayi hankali da yaran ka da zata dauka You know, they're not as strong as we full Africans are."

Her words landed like stones, but Imran didn't even lift his eyes from his phone, dismissing her with his silence.

Mercifully, Fatima reappeared. "Ya Muhammad, the doctor is ready to see you," she said, breaking the tension in the room.

Imran slipped his phone into his pocket and turned to her. "Thank you for checking up Maman Rahma, Allah ya saka da alheri," he said, his words polite but his tone firm.

Before anyone could respond, he followed the nurse behind Fatima out of the room, leaving behind the suffocating atmosphere and walking with toward the doctor's office.

As Imran stepped into the doctor's office, he found an older Asian man seated behind a desk, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The man looked up and stood, offering his hand with a warm smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Muhammad," the doctor greeted, his tone professional yet empathetic.

"Good morning, doctor," Imran replied, shaking his hand firmly.

"Please, have a seat," the doctor said, motioning to the chair across from him.

Imran sat down, his posture composed, though tension lingered in his eyes.

"First, let me extend my condolences to you and your wife for your loss," the doctor began gently.

"Thank you, doctor. I hope the procedure went smoothly," Imran responded, cutting straight to the point.

"It went perfectly," the doctor said, folding his hands on the desk. "I wanted to meet with you after speaking with the guardian who brought her here—Dr. Fatima, my colleague"

Imran nodded politely. "Alright."

"At first, I believed the procedure might not be necessary and that she could miscarry naturally. But when she arrived, her condition was concerning. Her blood count and iron levels were dangerously low, and she was already very weak," the doctor explained, his tone serious.

Imran listened intently, his brows knitting in concern.

"Moreover, I initially suspected it was an unknown pregnancy because your wife couldn't recall exactly how far along she was. Based on our estimates, however, the pregnancy was almost ten weeks old," the doctor continued, handing a document to Imran.

"Ten weeks?" Imran murmured, his frown deepening as thoughts swirled—thoughts he didn't want to entertain but couldn't push away.

"The hard impact on her uterus caused the miscarriage," the doctor said. "Fortunately, there was no lasting damage."

Imran exhaled softly, his features softening with relief. "Alhamdulillah," he whispered under his breath.

"However, Mr. Muhammad," the doctor added, his tone turning instructive, "for future pregnancies, it's essential for your wife to see a doctor as soon as she notices any symptoms or confirms a pregnancy. Her red blood cells and iron levels are consistently lower than what's safe for a pregnant woman. Regular check-ups from the early weeks until delivery will be crucial."

"I understand," Imran said with a nod. "But is she healthy now?" The worry in his voice was unmistakable.

"She's fine, but we'll monitor her for a few more hours before discharging her," the doctor reassured him.

"To clarify, doctor—how early do symptoms typically start to show?" Imran asked.

"It varies," the doctor replied. "In most cases, around five to six weeks, though some women notice changes earlier or later."

Imran hummed in acknowledgment. "Alright. Is there anything specific we should do or watch out for right now?"

"No, not at all," the doctor said, smiling kindly. "I've prescribed some medications and supplements for her. With a healthy diet and proper rest, she'll be just fine."

After signing the necessary papers and wrapping up their discussion, Imran left the office and found Fatima waiting outside the door.

"Fati," he greeted, exhaling deeply.

"Ya Muhammad," she replied with a small smile. "I'm so sorry for your loss. May Allah ease the pain for you and Jadwa and bless you with many children full of barakah."

"Ameen, Fati. Thank you," he said sincerely. Then, his expression softened with concern. "How are you yourself? Are you coping well?"

"Alhamdulillah, I'm fine," she replied. "I resumed work today."

Imran shook his head, disapproving. "Sadiq shouldn't have allowed that. You deserve more rest."

Fatima laughed lightly. "Work takes my mind off a lot."

"Is Hassan with Rahma at home?"

"Yes, he's with her and Mommy," she confirmed, referring to their mother.

Imran hesitated before asking, "Was Jadwa in much pain?" He scratched his head, his concern evident in his calm demeanor.

"It's natural," Fatima said gently. "She passed out when I arrived, but Alhamdulillah, we were on the phone. I made sure she was in the correct position for blood flow."

"Alhamdulillah," Imran murmured again, relief flickering across his face.

Fatima tilted her head, studying him. "Are you upset?"

Imran sighed and sat a few chairs away from her. "No. I'm just grateful and happy she's healthy. That's all that matters."

She nodded but continued to observe him, as though she suspected he was processing more than he let on. Imran, however, chose not to ask questions. He didn't need to. The pieces of the puzzle were already falling into place, though a few gaps still lingered.

"Fati," he called softly, and she turned toward him.

"Yes, Ya Muhammad?"

"You shouldn't be working yet," he said firmly. "You just had a C-section—twins, no less. There are plenty of other ways to occupy your mind without overworking yourself. It's not healthy."

Fatima sighed, not arguing.

"Please, take a few more months before resuming," Imran insisted. "I'll talk to Sadiq too. This is reckless."

Fatima sighed, not arguing. As the excellent oncologist she is, Fatima got a Job through Imran's many connections and referrals at one of the most private and luxurious international hospital in Abuja, Jiahui.

"Please, take a few more months before resuming," Imran insisted. "I'll talk to Sadiq too. This is reckless."

"Ya Muhammad!" She dragged pleadingly "please don't be harsh on him" she said her eyes widening, raising her hands to wave him off "no, no don't even say anything to him at all—please" She pleaded and Imran shook his head before chuckling.

"So you pushed it right?" He asked raising a brow and she nodded looking away guiltily. "And you know it's not right"

"I'll go back home after my call I promise" she said and he smiled.

"Very good"

•••

For the next twenty minutes, Imran sat silently in Jadwa's room, his eyes fixed on her as she lay still, her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. He couldn't tear his gaze away, a thousand thoughts swirling in his mind, until she stirred, her lashes fluttering open.

He stood immediately and moved to her side, his voice soft but laced with an undercurrent of concern. "Hey, sweety," he said, his hand brushing tenderly across her face. His smile was warm, but his eyes searched hers, scanning for traces of pain.

Jadwa shifted slightly, her gaze meeting his briefly before she lowered it. "Are you in pain?" he asked, his brow furrowing as she closed her eyes, her breath catching.

"No," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her hand resting on her stomach. "But very uncomfortable."

She hesitated, then choked out the words she'd been dreading. "I lost the baby." Her voice broke, and panic flared in her eyes, tears spilling over as she stammered, "I'm so sorry, Albi. I'm so—"

Her apology was cut short as Fatima entered with a nurse, the interruption easing some of the mounting tension in the room.

Imran turned back to her, brushing her brow gently with his thumb. His voice was calm, almost soothing. "We'll talk about it at home," he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Shh, I don't want my baby crying."

Her lip trembled, her tears still falling as he wiped them away. "Ko nima kinaso nayi kuka ne?" he teased softly, and despite the ill feeling in his heart, she let out a weak chuckle.

But as her gaze shifted away, he saw it—the raw fear in her eyes, the trembling of her fingers as they gripped the blanket. She was terrified, and he knew exactly why. Jadwa knows exactly what she did, he almost concluded. Yet, for now, all that mattered was her health. His questions could wait.

Fatima busied herself checking Jadwa's vitals while Imran stayed rooted in his chair, silent but watchful. His back rested against the chair, his focus entirely on his wife. He noted every movement, every flicker of her eyes, the way she avoided his gaze, the words she didn't speak.

Fatima's voice broke the silence. "Ya Muhammad, Hannan called her phone. Should I tell her?"

He nodded, tearing his gaze from Jadwa. "Sure," was all he said, his mind already crafting excuses for her silence.

"You didn't go to Maiduguri," Jadwa said suddenly, shifting uncomfortably under his watchful eyes.

A small, humorless smile curved his lips. "How could I?" he replied, his voice measured but tinged with emotion. "When I just lost my child?" He emphasized the word my, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

"Is everything okay at the factory?" she asked hesitantly, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Ibrahim's handling it."

Her gaze dropped again, and for over an hour, they sat in a suffocating silence. Her eyes never lifted to meet his, and his never wavered from her face.

Eventually, Imran excused himself when Hanan arrived, stepping out to his car. Once inside, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out the pregnancy tests he'd bought just that morning before the fire outbreak call had come in. At the naming ceremony two nights ago, he'd suspected she might be pregnant. Her increased appetite, unusual lethargy, moodiness, emotional distress and aversion to cooking her favorite dishes had been telling signs.

Now, the truth weighed heavily on him. She had been pregnant two months along and he hadn't known, she hid it from him. He shoved the tests aside purposely and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. How could everyone else—his stepmother, Khayrah, perhaps even her family know while he, the father, was left clueless?

After a long moment, he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't be angry even if he tried. His priority was her well-being, but the questions gnawed at him, multiplying with each passing second.

When he re-entered the room, Jadwa was sipping hot kunu and chatting quietly with Hannan. He waited until the nurse removed the IV from her hand before stepping beside her, his arm sliding around her shoulders. She leaned into him hesitantly, her head resting against his arm, but still, she avoided his gaze.

As he guided her through the hallway, his other hand resting protectively on her lower back, he asked, "Are you feeling dizzy?"

"No," she whispered.

He adjusted her scarf, his touch careful. "Hmm," he hummed, patiently waiting until she was done and ready to leave.

At the car, he opened the door for her and helped her settle in. "You're good?" he asked. She nodded but kept her eyes downcast.

When he climbed into the driver's seat, he noticed her gaze flicker toward the pregnancy kit on the compartment. Without a word, he grabbed it and shoved it deeper out of sight. Her fingers trembled in a shiver, betraying her fear. He didn't press her, instead starting the car and letting the heavy silence fill the space between them.

The drive home was quiet, a fragile truce between their unspoken emotions. Once there, Imran helped her out of the car, his hand firm but gentle on her back. The staff greeted them but dispersed quickly at his silent nod.

At the door, Jadwa walked slowly, her steps hesitant. He followed her upstairs, his patience unwavering until she faltered midway.

"Are you in pain?" he asked from behind.

"Not at all. It's just uncomfortable—"

Before she could finish, he scooped her into his arms, carrying her effortlessly up the remaining stairs and into the living room.

"Stay here," he said softly, settling her on the couch. He called for the chef, requesting hot tea and something light to eat, then sat down beside her, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them.

As soon as the chef left, Imran made his way to their room, his movements brisk but heavy with an unshakable sense of unease. The air felt thick as he entered, the familiar scent of their shared space doing little to calm the storm brewing within him. His eyes fell on the bed, its neatly arranged covers mocking the chaos in his mind. Standing before it, he took a sharp breath, steeling himself before reaching for the side drawer.

The creak of the wood seemed deafening in the silence. There they were, her birth control pills. He stared at the packs, their pristine condition betraying a truth he had overlooked for months. His fingers stopped mid way as he picked them up, flipping through the months. The first pack several pills missed. The second, untouched. He didn't need a calendar or much calculations to figure it out; the pieces of the puzzle slotted into place effortlessly. She had stopped taking them.

But then, he still did the quick math and saw the date. The exact day she had stopped. His breath hitched, and his grip on the pack tightened. That date. It was the same day they had visited his family. She had known. She had known she was pregnant all along.

A wave of betrayal surged through him, raw and consuming. He dropped the pills back into the drawer, their scattered state mirroring his thoughts. Sinking onto the bed, he leaned forward, his elbows digging into his thighs as he buried his face in his hands. Minutes passed, but they brought no relief—only questions that gnawed at his mind, each one heavier than the last.

His feelings for her had always been a consuming fire, but now that fire scorched him, leaving ashes of doubt and despair. He cared for her deeply, achingly, but he knew he had always known her feelings didn't mirror his own but this realization felt like a dagger twisting in his chest.

The sound of the door opening snapped him from his spiraling thoughts. His head shot up, and there she was—Jadwa. She stood frozen at the threshold, her hand gripping the doorknob as if it were her lifeline as she stared at the side table. Her eyes darted between him and the open drawer, the weight of realization clear on her face.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She hesitated, her silence screaming louder than any excuse could. Finally, in a voice so small it was almost inaudible, she said, "The food is waiting."

Imran stared at her, his expression blank but his eyes stormy. "Come here," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Sit."

"Babe, I—"

"We need to talk," he interrupted, his tone sharp but controlled.

"I don't want to talk," she replied, exhaustion dripping from her words as if the weight of the conversation was already crushing her. She took a step back, her body visibly wilting.

"You don't have to want to," he said, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "I said we need to talk."

Her hesitation lingered, and she shifted on her feet. "Maybe later—right now, I—"

"Jadwa, kar kisa na kara cewa ki zo ki zauna a nan!" His voice rose, cutting through her deflection like a whip. It wasn't a shout, but it was firm, commanding, louder than he'd ever spoken to her before.

Her breath hitched, and her legs moved almost on their own, carrying her to the chair opposite him. She obeyed and sat, her gaze avoiding his, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"Ya Imran," she whispered, her voice cracking.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing, silencing her before she could continue. He leaned forward, his voice eerily calm. "When did you find out you were pregnant?"

Her head dropped, her hands wringing tighter. "Before you went to Maiduguri," she admitted quietly. "Ya—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he interrupted, his tone still composed, and the calm he carried unmistakable.

Her silence cut deeper than any confession could. His mind replayed every reckless thing she had done in recent months—the types of food she ate, the heavy lifting of things around the house, the playful running around the house and worse of all not even one hospital visit while she carried his child and she knew. Every memory felt like a blow, each one more painful than the last.

"When I asked you what was wrong the other day... this was it, wasn't it?" His voice softened. "Why did you lie? Were you... were you scared of me?" He hesitated, the very thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"No," she said, her voice barely audible, her head shaking.

"Tsoro na kike ji, Jadwa?" he asked again, his voice soft but pressing making a single tear slid down her cheek.

"No!" she exclaimed suddenly, her voice cracking. "Ya Imran, I promise you—I didn't harm it."

He leaned back, dragging his hands over his face in frustration. "What are you even saying? Do you think I'm accusing you of that?"

He exhaled, his calm eerie. "I'm not blaming you, Jadwa. I just want to understand. Why am I finding out about my child now? Why did you keep it from me?"

She ducked her head further, her silence stretching unbearably.

"Is it something at home?" he tried again. "Something I missed?"

"No," she murmured.

"Because I travel too much?" he asked again desperate for answers.

She shook her head.

"Was I not giving you enough attention?" He asked as he grasped for answers, for anything that could make sense of her actions.

Her composure shattered. "Ya Imran!" she cried, her voice breaking. "It's my baby too!" Her sobs echoed through the room, raw and unrestrained.

"Exactly," he replied sharply, over her voice "And equally mine. But you knew, and I was left in the dark. Do you understand how that feels?"

"I don't want to talk about this," she said, her voice trembling with exhaustion. "We just lost a child."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "And you get to mourn because only YOU knew?"

"I'm tired! I'm exhausted! I don't want to talk about this, babe!" Jadwa's voice cracked as it rose, her words tumbling out like she's breaking under pressure. Her breathing was uneven, her hands trembling as she gestured in frustration. "I really don't want to have this conversation. There's no point—none!" At this point she was almost screaming, crashing out.

Tears streamed down her face, her sobs shaking her entire frame as she pushed herself out of the chair, her movements frantic, almost desperate. "This is the last thing I want to talk about! You keep questioning me and questioning me, and I keep telling you—I'm tired!" Her voice broke, her body quivering with the force of her emotions.

"Yes, I was pregnant!" she blurted out, her voice sharp and filled with pain. "I knew for that long, and I hid it from you! It's happened! It's done! There's nothing I can do to change it now!" She choked on her words, her hands wringing together as though she were trying to wring out her grief. "Even if you're going to punish me for it, please—not now!"

Her knees buckled slightly as she stepped back, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Imran's composure and glare froze her mid-step, the weight of his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"Sit back down," he said, his voice low but commanding, his outstretched finger pointing back at the chair with an authority that left no room for argument.

Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her back to the chair. She sank into it, her posture tense, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. The silence between them stretched on, thick and suffocating. Imran sat across from her, his features unreadable, though his eyes burned with restrained emotion.

Jadwa's breathing was erratic, her chest heaving as she struggled to calm herself. Her nails dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped indents, her panic tangible in every shaky exhale.

Finally, Imran spoke, still gentle and calm than she expected but no less insistent. "Baby, please explain this."

She didn't respond, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

"I don't want to assume anything," he continued, his tone steady. "But you're leaving me no choice."

Still, there was no answer. Her silence was a wall, impenetrable and infuriating.

Imran leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowed, his voice gaining an edge. "Is this because I'm a murderer?"

Her head shot up, her tear-streaked face turning toward him. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, her wide, red-rimmed eyes meeting his. His face was pale, the redness in his own eyes betraying the depth of his emotions.

"Because you can't stand your kids being labeled with that?" he asked, his voice quieter now but no less cutting.

Her chest tightened at his words, and she let out an audible sigh, a single tear trailing down her cheek. "Ya Imran," she began, her voice trembling but sharp, "let's be clear here, you already assumed and speculated."

Her voice cracked as she continued, the words spilling out faster, rising in volume. "And this marriage, this whole marriage, to be honest, it's just that. A marriage. Nothing more." Her voice broke completely, and she let out a bitter laugh that ended in a sob.

"We aren't in love, for goodness' sake!" she cried, her scarf slipping from her hair as she threw her hands up in frustration. "We don't owe each other! Ya Imran, how long have we been married?! And in all that time, we've never talked about love! about feelings! or anything close to it!"

Her voice wavered as she looked at him, her gaze searching his for something, anything. "Do you even love me?" she asked, her voice breaking on the word "love."

Imran's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he scoffed, letting out a humorless chuckle that only fueled her frustration.

"Don't laugh at me!" she snapped. "Yeah, I might be crazy, but can you remind me, have you ever told me you loved me? Even once?" Her voice cracked, her tears falling freely now. "How many months have we been married, if we were in love we would have said it, and you've never said it! Not once! You don't love me, so let's not pretend this is some marriage built on love and not lust!" Her tone lowered as she said the next words.

"This relationship is almost just sexual" she breathed out before she continued "I'm just your wife, I do my duties, I give you your rights, and you fulfill all your responsibilities and the rights I have over you as well and that's enough for me."

She wiped at her tears furiously, her movements jerky and desperate to erase the evidence of her pain. Imran smiled, a smile she couldn't read. His face was a mask of restraint, but the flicker of something deeper glimmered in his eyes.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" she demanded, her voice rising again as he remained hushed, calm, windless and undisturbed. Her fingers clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms once more at how undisturbed and calm he seemed.

He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he ran a hand across his brow. "Oh, you didn't answer my question" he said finally, his tone dry and clipped. "You clearly... diverted."

Jadwa swallowed hard, her throat constricting painfully as she prepared to speak again "Ya Imran" she called staring at him dead in the eyes.

"Do you know anyone who wants to have a child with a murderer?" She answered his question, her tone bitter, her words slicing through the air. Her breath hitched after the words escaped her lips, and her eyes locked onto his.

Their gazes remained locked, the room suffocating with tension. Minutes stretched into eternity as they sat there, both unraveling under the weight of their unspoken truths.

When Jadwa finally opened her mouth to speak again, Imran stood, cutting her off before the words could form.

"You're right, Jadwa," he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion. "And I apologize"

Grabbing his car keys from the table, he turned and walked out of the room without another word, the door closing behind him with a finality that left her crumbling in his absence.