*****

A few weeks later, things took a dramatic turn. Muhammad was supposed to be spending the night at Juwairah's house, but everything felt different now. He had arrived and was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, while Juwairah sat in the room on the phone with her friend Safs.

"Juju, did you place it where Mallam told you to?" Safs asked, her voice urgent.

"Yes, Saf, I placed it on top of the AC," Juwairah replied, her voice laced with impatience.

"Okay, did you get his boxers? You know he said to bring it to him," Safs pressed.

Juwairah sighed in frustration. "Saf, where am I going to get his boxers?"

"Juju, you're acting dumb! You're his wife, think of something, please!" Safs urged.

Juwairah hesitated, feeling the weight of the situation. "Okay, okay, I will. But Saf, I still feel somehow. What if Muhammad finally wants to sleep with me, and he sees that I'm deflowered? What will he say?"

"He won't know if the charm works, all he'll think about is how much he needs and wants you," Safs assured her. "Just get his boxers, that's the last thing before the charm starts working."

Juwairah nodded slowly, her thoughts swirling. "Okay, I'll get it, inshallah. He'll hate her and love me, inshallah. That charm must work."

"That's the spirit, girl! Have faith in yourself—Muhammad is already yours," Safs said, her voice full of conviction.

Juwairah smiled weakly. "Kai, Saf, wallahi, I owe you big time. Thank you so much." She ended the call, then picked up her phone again to call her mother. She needed to share everything that was going on with her, hoping for some kind of reassurance.

Just as she hung up with Aunt Muneera, she turned around to find Muhammad standing in the doorway, his face twisted with pure anger and disgust. His presence felt like a slap to her heart.

"Y-ya Muhammad," Juwairah stammered, her heart racing.

"Don't even start," he cut her off, his voice icy.

"I can explain, please," she pleaded, her voice wavering with fear.

"I said I don't want to hear anything from you. Keep your dirty mouth shut." He glared at her, his disgust evident.

Juwairah's heart sank as she saw the look in his eyes. "Me, Muhammad Ibrahim Yerima, divorce you, Juwairah Abdullahi Wakili, three times," he declared coldly.

Juwairah's breath caught in her throat as she shrieked, "Ya Muhammad, Dan Allah ka rufa mun asiri! Na shiga uku."

"Rufin asiri? Juwairah, I cannot just leave a person who has committed not one, but two unforgivable sins," he continued, his voice bitter. "I want you out of my house first thing tomorrow morning."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stood frozen, her mind reeling, as he turned on his heel and walked out of the house.

Muhammad was seething as he walked to Layla's house, his heart heavy with betrayal and anger. He entered her room, found her lounging on the bed, watching something on her laptop. Her eyes met his, and she immediately noticed the storm brewing in his expression.

"Babe, what's wrong?" she asked, concern flooding her voice as she sat up, her attention fully on him.

"I'll explain tomorrow," he muttered, exhaustion lining his face. "I'm so tired right now, I just want to sleep it off."

Layla raised an eyebrow, confused by his sudden shift in mood, but she didn't press him. "Okay, but aren't you supposed to be with Juwairah tonight?"

Muhammad's frustration spilled over as he dragged the duvet over the bed. "I'm not sleeping in her house. She's not my wife anymore. Not after everything that just happened."

Layla's confusion deepened. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"I'll explain tomorrow," he repeated, his voice softer this time. He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his face. "I can't deal with this right now."

Layla decided not to push further. If Muhammad needed space, she would give it to him. She set her laptop aside, turning off the light and sliding into the duvet beside him. She snuggled into his warmth, instinctively feeling that everything would be okay as long as they were together.

After reciting a quiet dua, Layla closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the day lift off her shoulders. She couldn't wait for tomorrow, to hear what had really happened, but for now, she would be content just holding her husband. She prayed that everything would work out, trusting that their love was strong enough to weather any storm.

The next morning, everything would come to light, and the truth would force them all to confront the choices they had made. But for now, the night was still, and Layla's heart beat steadily beside Muhammad's.

****

"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon. Juwairah, tell me you did not just do that. Please, tell me you didn't commit shirk!" Aunt Maryama's voice trembled with both anger and disbelief.

Juwairah, her eyes swollen from crying, managed to choke out, "Auntie, Wallahi, it was shaitan... I didn't mean it," she sobbed desperately, wringing her hands.

Aunt Maryama's expression hardened. "Enough! You have disgraced yourself, your family, and us all!" she shouted, stepping forward. "What were you thinking? Couldn't you have asked Allah for help, or turned to the truth instead of resorting to the darkness? For this, you will never find forgiveness!"

Juwairah's voice turned bitter as she glared at Layla, who was sitting quietly beside Muhammad and Ni'imah. "Mama, I did it for your son. He's under that witch's spell. You should be thanking me for trying to save him from her evil influence," she spat, pointing accusingly at Layla.

A cold silence filled the room. Layla held Ni'imah's arm, her face pale, struggling not to break down in front of everyone. How dare she accuse her of such a vile thing?

Juwairah's voice grew louder, venomous. "If Muhammad had shown me even an ounce of love, I would never have done this. But no, he's too busy being her little puppet! Layla controls him, and I won't be surprised if she's using charms to keep him under her spell."

Muhammad's eyes narrowed. "Shut your mouth, Juwairah!" he roared, his fists clenching by his sides. "Do you have any respect for your elders, or for my wife? Keep your foul words to yourself!"

Juwairah's lip curled into a sneer. "Wife?" she spat, her voice thick with disdain. "You call that a wife? Please. She's nothing but a puppet herself."

"If you say one more word, I swear to Allah, I will slap you across the face," Muhammad hissed, his body shaking with anger.

"You've already committed a great sin, and now you have the audacity to speak?" Baba's voice was cold, his gaze cutting through the air.

Mama's face was full of concern, but her words were sharp. "What should we do with her now, Muhammad? She's your wife."

Baba looked at his son, the decision weighing heavily on him. "Muhammad, it's your choice. She's your wife."

Muhammad stood still, his heart heavy. He didn't need to think twice. "I've divorced her. I can't live with someone who would commit such a heinous act."

The room went dead silent. Juwairah's face crumpled in disbelief. "Please, Muhammad, don't do this! I'm begging you, take me back! I swear I'll never do it again! I was desperate!" she wailed, throwing herself to the floor.

"You're only sorry now that you've been caught," Ni'imah said coldly, stepping forward. "Don't expect anyone to have sympathy for you after what you've done."

Juwairah glared at Ni'imah, her eyes full of venom. "Stay out of this, Ni'imah!" she screamed, her voice breaking as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Ni'imah shook her head, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Oh, I'm sorry, Juwairah, but this is none of my business. You've hurt those I love, and now you want pity? I don't think so."

Juwairah stood abruptly, her rage boiling over. She lunged toward Ni'imah, her hand raised to strike her. But Muhammad, moving with shocking speed, grabbed her by the arm. "Have you lost your mind? Attacking people in front of elders? What kind of madness is this?" he thundered, shaking her violently.

Juwairah struggled in his grasp, but he held her firm. "You're embarrassing yourself! You've completely lost control!" Muhammad's voice was a low growl, filled with disgust.

Mama's face crumpled in despair. "Subhanallah, Juwairah, what were you thinking? What's become of you?" Tears streamed down her face as she moved toward her niece. "I'm calling your father right now. You're going back to Katsina. I'll have the driver take you immediately."

Juwairah's eyes widened in panic. "Please, no, Mama, don't send me back there! Baba will kill me! He'll never forgive me for this," she sobbed, clinging to Mama's wrapper desperately.

Mama shook her off. "Let go of me! You've done enough damage, Juwairah. Go pack your things. The driver is waiting for you."

Without another word, Mama turned and walked away, leaving Juwairah in a sobbing heap on the floor. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone left her there.

Layla, shaken to her core, walked toward Ni'imah's former room. But as she passed, she felt a cold, vice-like grip on her arm. She froze in terror.

"Traitor! I swear, I'll make you pay for what you've done to me," Juwairah hissed through clenched teeth, her grip tightening painfully.

"Juwairah, let go of me! You're out of your mind!" Layla cried, struggling to free herself.

"I won't let go, not until you're dead," Juwairah snarled, her face twisted in fury.

Layla's heart pounded in her chest as Juwairah reached for the nearest antique vase. Without warning, Juwairah slammed the vase into Layla's head. The sound of it shattering echoed through the house, and Layla screamed in pain, collapsing to the floor.

"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon!" The room erupted in chaos as everyone rushed toward her. Muhammad was the first to reach her, pulling her head into his lap. "Layla, are you okay?" he cried, his voice breaking with concern.

"I'm fine, just... a little dizzy," Layla whispered, struggling to stay conscious.

"What happened?" Ni'imah asked, her voice trembling with worry, but Baba quickly pulled her back to avoid the shattered pieces of glass.

"Juwairah did this," Muhammad said, his voice cold with fury as he looked around the room. But Juwairah was already gone.

"She's lost her mind," Ni'imah muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Muhammad gently helped Layla up and led her to the living room. He set her down on the couch, his face filled with worry, but his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"We don't know," Ni'imah replied quietly. "Maybe she's outside."

Muhammad stormed out of the house, his fists clenched in rage. He found Juwairah sitting in the gazebo, her face streaked with tears. "Juwairah, have you completely lost it? What if you had hurt her? If anything had happened to Layla, I swear to Allah, you would regret it for the rest of your life!" Muhammad yelled at her, his voice shaking with fury.

Juwairah didn't respond. She simply sat there, crying uncontrollably.

Later, as planned, the driver took Juwairah to the airport, her flight to Katsina already booked. She was about to face the wrath of her father, and no one knew what awaited her there. Only Allah knew the future now.

*****

"Anne!" Sabrina cried out, her little feet pounding the ground as she sprinted toward her mother.

"Maryam, benim kuzum!" Layla exclaimed, lifting her daughter into her arms, kissing her head softly as Sabrina clung to her.

After the chaos had settled, Muhammad took Layla to the hospital, his protective instincts driving him. He insisted on getting her checked out to make sure nothing serious had happened after the confrontation. After the doctor confirmed she was fine, they left, both relieved but emotionally exhausted. Their next stop was Ya Meena's to pick up Sabrina, who had been there for the last four days. Layla had decided it was time to wean her off, and there was no better time than now.

They entered Ya Meena's home, and Sabrina's excitement to see her parents was palpable. "Ya Meena, Merhaba," Layla greeted her warmly.

"How are you, Ablacim?" Ya Meena smiled, greeting them both.

The three of them chatted for a while before they decided it was time to leave. They made their way back home shortly after, Sabrina dozing off in the car. Muhammad carefully lifted his daughter into his arms while Layla grabbed the baby bag and her handbag.

When they reached the house, they locked the door behind them and headed upstairs. Muhammad tucked Sabrina into bed while Layla changed her into her night clothes. She turned off the room's overhead lights, leaving only the bedside lamp glowing softly, and switched on the baby monitor, even though the room was connected to their own. She looked down at her peaceful daughter, smiling before heading to her room.

In her room, Layla quickly undressed, had a bath, and emerged in a comfortable set of pink shorts and a matching shirt. She walked into their bedroom and found Muhammad sitting on the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Have you or have you not taken your bath?" Layla asked teasingly as she walked over to him.

"Have not," he said with a playful grin, pulling her down onto his lap.

As soon as she sat, he wrapped his arms around her, leaving her clothes wet from his dripping hair. "Liar," she scolded, smacking him playfully. "Now you've made me wet! You know how much I hate getting all dressed up and then wet again," she pouted, her lips forming a cute frown.

"Oops, my bad," he smirked, rubbing his wet hair against her chest.

"Muhammad! Oh my God," she gasped, realizing what he had done. "My shirt is see-through now! You can literally see everything underneath!" Her eyes widened in embarrassment.

He chuckled, tracing the wet spot with his thumb, his voice dripping with teasing affection. "Nothing I haven't seen before, babe," he said with a mischievous grin, moving closer as if to kiss her.

But before he could, Layla quickly bolted for the bathroom. She bent over the toilet, her body convulsing as she threw up.

Muhammad, ever the concerned husband, rushed after her, kneeling beside her, gently holding her hair up. "What's wrong, babe?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

She threw up again before sitting up, wiping her mouth, trying to catch her breath. Muhammad gently carried her to the sink, brushing her teeth with tender care before guiding her back to their bed.

As he helped her settle down, she looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Muhammad... I think I'm pregnant."

He didn't hear her clearly the first time, his mind too occupied with her distress. He slipped on some shorts and a tee quickly and returned to sit next to her, still concerned.

"What were you saying?" he asked softly, his eyes full of curiosity.

Layla smiled as she looked down at her stomach, her heart fluttering with hope. "I said... I think I'm pregnant."

Muhammad's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you serious?" he asked, a wide smile spreading across his face.

Layla nodded, her voice filled with quiet certainty. "Absolutely. I'm 99.9% sure."

Muhammad pulled her into a tight embrace, his heart swelling with joy and excitement. "Inshallah, you are," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "This is the best news."

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