It has been a few months since Ibty's wedding, and here I am, just weeks away from meeting my little one. Alhamdulillah, everything is going smoothly, but of course, life can't ever be entirely easy, can it? Juwairah spends her weekends with us, and if it weren't for Muhammad, she'd probably be living here full-time by now. I'm not sure whether to be thankful or annoyed that he stepped in and talked to Baba about it. It's funny how protective he can be sometimes.

I'm not going to work now, mostly because I feel like a balloon, waddling around the house with my back aching from the extra weight. Tomorrow, inshallah, I'm heading home to stay at the guest chalet until I give birth, a family tradition. Honestly, part of me wants to stay here, but Muhammad had a quiet word with Mammy about my eating habits—he thinks I'm not eating enough, a traitor! He's terrified that something might go wrong while he's at work.

Right now, I'm sitting on the floor of my closet, staring at my luggage like it's a foreign object. What do I even pack for this trip? I had given my tailor some ankara fabric and other materials to make me some maternity gowns, but of course, he hasn't delivered them yet. So, here I am, improvising with whatever I can find—summer dresses, random bits and pieces. It's not ideal, but I guess I'll make do.

After I finished packing, I went downstairs to start cooking for Muhammad and his friends who would be coming over for dinner. At first, I was at a loss for what to make. Then it hit me—why not cook some Turkish dishes? So, I settled on Etli pilav and lahmacun, hoping they would love it. Ramatu and Benita helped me with the preparations, and I arranged everything on the table just in time to freshen up before Muhammad got back.

I showered and slipped into a comfy green sweatshirt and black leggings. Bored and with some time to kill, I decided to play around with some makeup and snap a few pictures. Of course, I FaceTimed Ya Meena and baby Nasreen while I was doing it. They're back in New York now, and I miss them so much.

"Layla, look at you, you're glowing! Hamilelik sana yakışıyor (pregnancy suits you)," Ya Meena said, smiling through the screen.

I grinned at her, feeling a little giddy. "I know, right? I'm going to miss being pregnant when it's all over."

"Elbette, you will!" Ya Meena agreed, her voice full of warmth. "It's the best feeling ever."

As I continued to play with my makeup, she asked, "So, have you guys thought of a name?"

I hesitated. "Not sure yet. Maybe Sabrina? Or Naina?"

"They're both lovely," Ya Meena responded, and we spent a few more moments catching up before she had to go.

I finished my makeup, snapped a few more pictures, and posted one on Snapchat while also sending a couple to Muhammad. Two minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from him.

Mr. Moh: Damn, you look so hot, babe. I could eat you right now.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Seriously?

Me: Eww, babe, that's gross. Don't forget I'm carrying a little human inside of me... so, yeah, anything could set me off right now. And wait—eat me? Am I food?

Mr. Moh: Gross, ayy? I know you're carrying our baby, I made that happen.

I couldn't help but laugh at his boldness.

Me: Oh my god, you're corrupting me.

Mr. Moh: Lmaooo wai I'm corrupting you. Bye, baby.

I smiled and shook my head. Sometimes, I wonder how this man can make me laugh even when he's being ridiculous. Every day, I thank Allah for him, and my love for him only grows deeper.

After I finished praying Maghreb, I plopped down on the couch upstairs, intending to relax, but of course, nothing good was on TV. I found myself scrolling through baby stuff on my laptop when, suddenly, I felt a few strong kicks from my princess. My stomach fluttered with joy and surprise.

"Whoa, easy there, little tigress," I murmured, feeling both excited and a little overwhelmed by how real it was all becoming.

As if on cue, I heard a car honk outside. Muhammad must be back. I dragged myself off the couch, lazily made my way downstairs, and just as I reached the last step, the door unlocked. There he was—my dashing husband, walking in with his confident stride, his eyes lighting up when he saw me.

He didn't waste a moment before enveloping me in a warm hug, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "I missed you," he whispered, his voice thick with affection.

"I missed you too," I replied, holding him tight. "Princess kicked me three times today."

"Really? Why does she always kick when I'm out?" he asked, his voice laced with that familiar playful tone.

"Maybe she doesn't like you being gone," I teased, sticking my tongue out at him.

"Of course she likes me," he said, as he walked up the stairs, a confident smirk on his face. "She'll look just like me."

I rolled my eyes, following him up. "You wish."

As we entered our room, my phone rang, and I answered with a smile.

"Hello, nasılsın Annem?" I greeted my mother, turning to look at myself in the mirror.

"Layla, Ben iyiyim kuzum, siz nasılsınız?" Mammy asked from the other end.

"Ben de iyiyim, Elhamdulillah," I responded.

"Good. I wanted to ask, where would you like to stay? Your room or the guest chalet?" she inquired.

"I'm not sure... whichever works," I replied, feeling a bit indecisive.

"Okay, since the chalet is bigger, I'll have it prepared for you," she said, clearly already making arrangements.

"Tamam, love you, bye," I said before hanging up.

I sighed in relief, muttering "Alhamdulillah." At that moment, I heard the bathroom door open, and Muhammad emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his chiseled frame. He flashed me a look, his gaze knowing and playful.

"It's allowed, babe," he whispered in my ear, catching me off guard.

"What's allowed?" I asked, pretending I didn't know exactly what he meant.

"Ogling at me," he teased, raising that perfect brow of his.

I smirked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever makes you happy," he chuckled, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on my lips.

I pulled away, a mischievous smile on my face. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice low and affectionate. "Can't I kiss my wife again?"

I squeezed his hand, a contented feeling settling in my chest. "Hurry and get dressed, your friends are probably already on their way."

I picked out an outfit for him—black jeans and a white button-up shirt—then went downstairs to make sure everything was set.

An hour later, his friends arrived, and dinner was well underway. I excused myself from the table, eating in the living room while they enjoyed the meal. Everything felt perfect, and in these moments, I felt more at peace than ever before.

******

A Few Weeks Later

"I want this baby out! Call Muhammad, I need him here—please, call my husband!" I screamed at the nurses, my voice trembling with both pain and desperation.

"Okay, Layla, you have to push," one of the nurses said, her voice calm but urgent.

"I can't... Ya Allah, I can't!" I cried out, my body trembling as another contraction hit.

"You're almost there, kuzum, push harder," Mammy said softly, her hand gently stroking my sweat-drenched hair. Her voice was soothing, yet I could hear the worry in it.

"Anne, kocamı ara, Muhammed neden burada değil? (Call my husband, why isn't Muhammad here, Mammy?)"

"O yolda tatlı kızım (He's on his way, my sweet girl)," Mammy reassured me, though I could sense her own anxiety.

The midwife urged, "You have to push harder, okay? Stay with me, you're almost there."

"I can't... I'm so tired, na gaji," I muttered, shaking my head as the tears kept flowing. My body felt like it was betraying me, and I just couldn't keep going.

"No, baby, you can do this, okay? Stay strong," Mammy whispered, her voice full of love and encouragement.

With one last cry, I gave everything I had left in me. I screamed as I pushed again, my body screaming in protest. But then... I felt it—relief. A little head. A little life.

"That's good. Keep pushing," the midwife said with urgency.

The sound of a baby's cry filled the room, and a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over me. I collapsed back against the bed, exhausted but elated.

"Alhamdulillah, you have a beautiful baby girl," the midwife announced.

"Elhamdulillah!" Mammy exclaimed, tears of joy welling up in her eyes. "Çok şükür ya Rabbim (Thank you, my Lord)."

The nurse cleaned the baby, and soon, she was placed in my arms. The moment I looked at her, I felt my heart overflow. My sweet girl. My baby.

MUHAMMAD

I didn't waste a single second once Mammy called to say Layla's water had broken. I was already on my way, my heart pounding with anxiety and fear. I wasn't there for her when she needed me most—my mind raced with guilt. But the biggest fear? That I would miss the birth of our first child.

I sped into the parking lot, barely thinking straight. My heart raced in my chest as I quickly exited the car and ran toward the hospital entrance, my feet not fast enough to reach my wife.

"Layla," I whispered to myself as I hurried down the hallway, finally being directed to her room. I knocked softly before stepping in. "Assalamu Alaikum."

"Wa Alaikum Assalam," Mammy and Esma Teyze greeted me with warm smiles, and my heart settled just a bit as I saw them.

Layla smiled faintly at me from the bed, her face a mixture of exhaustion and joy. "Hey," she whispered weakly, but her eyes were filled with the kind of love that made my heart swell.

I made small talk with Mammy and Aunty Esma before walking over to where Layla and our daughter were. I gazed down at the tiny figure, peaceful in her crib, and felt my throat tighten. She was perfect. My daughter. Our daughter.

"She looks just like her mother," I whispered softly, unable to tear my eyes away from the tiny bundle in front of me.

"Are you going to pick her up?" Ni'imah asked, a playful glint in her eye.

Gently, I scooped her up into my arms, sitting down beside Layla on the bed. Ni'imah left us to have the moment we needed, and I kissed Layla on her forehead, feeling a rush of emotions flood me.

"So, what should we name her?" Layla asked, her tired eyes staring up at me with so much love.

"Maryam," I said, my voice steady. "Her name is Maryam." I looked at my beautiful wife and added, "I love that name."

Layla's eyes sparkled, even though she was exhausted. "We can call her Sabrina... like the patient one."

"Sabrina," I repeated, smiling as I kissed her tiny forehead. "Sabrina, benim güzel kızım. Sana kurban olurum (My beautiful daughter, I will be sacrificed for you)," Layla whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

I faced the qibla, calling the adhan into our baby's tiny ear, repeating her name three times as per sunnah. At that moment, everything felt perfect. Our family was finally complete.

LAYLA

"She looks just like her Teyze Norah," Norah's voice came through the phone from Manchester.

"Please, my daughter doesn't look like a goblin," I smirked at my sister, already anticipating her reaction.

Norah gasped dramatically. "You're saying I look like a goblin?"

"Yup," I replied, nonchalant as ever.

"Ya Muhammad, your wife is so mean!" Norah complained, her voice full of mock indignation.

Muhammad chuckled from beside me, apologizing on my behalf—his wife, of course. After a few more "aww's" and "coos," Norah ended the call, and we were left in peace.

Hours later, I was beyond tired of the hospital. I missed home, missed my bed. I had been asking all day when I would be discharged, my patience wearing thin. The hormones didn't help, of course.

"Mama, please, when am I going to be discharged?" I asked, adjusting Sabrina to my chest.

"Tomorrow, inshallah," Mama replied with a gentle smile, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

"I'm so tired of this place, Mama. Please, let's go home," I said, my voice breaking with a mix of exhaustion and emotion. Damn postpartum hormones.

"Kiyi hakuri Layla, let your husband come back," Mama said softly, rubbing my back as she spoke.

Just then, the door opened, and my prince walked in. His smile was everything I needed after such a long day. He greeted Mama, who left to go home, and then came to sit beside me.

"Hey there, little one," Muhammad said, looking down at our daughter with so much love in his eyes.

"It's like it's only Sabrina you see, abi?" I teased him.

He turned to me, a playful glint in his eyes. "Haba, no baby, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" I asked, crossing my arms, pretending to be jealous.

He smiled, sighing in that way he did when he couldn't help but show his love. "It's just that she's the new love of my life."

I laughed and pulled him close, pressing my lips to his in a soft kiss. "I love you, Muhammad."

"I love you more, baby. You gave me the biggest gift ever. Our daughter," he said, his voice full of emotion.

Just then, the doctor knocked and entered, exchanging pleasantries with Muhammad and congratulating us.

"Doctor, when am I going to be discharged?" I asked again, eager to get out of here.

"You'll be discharged tomorrow, you just need a little more rest," the doctor replied kindly.

I sighed, feeling both relieved and frustrated. I picked up my phone and snapped a picture of Sabrina to send to my siblings and Ibty since none of them could be here.

"She looks so much like you, babe," Muhammad said, caressing our daughter's cheek, his eyes full of admiration.

"I know, right? But she has your eyes," I cooed, feeling a rush of love for both of them.

"She's so beautiful, Mashallah. I'm obsessed," Muhammad said, his voice barely a whisper as he prayed silently, thanking Allah for bringing these two into his life.

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