Five months. I can't believe it. I'm already five months pregnant, and my baby bump is so visible now. I guess I couldn't hide it forever. It's almost like it happened overnight, and now there's no turning back. It's a beautiful reminder of the little life growing inside me, but the stretch marks covering my body make it feel even more real. It's the beauty of motherhood, they say—though I never imagined it would come with so many physical changes.

I'm starting to feel all those things my sisters warned me about—the ones they say you can't fully understand until it happens to you. Swollen feet, that constant aching in my lower back, and the Braxton Hicks contractions, which are strangely both unsettling and reassuring. They're my body's way of preparing for the real thing, but that doesn't make them any easier to bear.

And sleep. Or rather, the lack of it. I honestly can't remember the last time I had a full, uninterrupted night of sleep. It's like no matter how I position myself, my growing belly gets in the way. I've tried everything—stacking pillows around me, placing one between my knees for extra support, but nothing seems to make it any easier. Thankfully, Adda Niinii saw how much I was struggling and surprised me with a pregnancy pillow. I can't even begin to explain how much of a difference it's made. I think I finally found something that might just give me the comfort I've been longing for during these restless nights.

Ya Ummi advised me that the safest position to sleep during pregnancy is on my side, so I've been trying to follow that as best as I can. Still, I can't help but long for a full night of uninterrupted sleep, but Alhamdulillah, everything else is going well.

Our baby boy is healthy and growing strong in my belly. Yes, you heard that right—a baby boy! Alhamdulillah, the joy and excitement are beyond words. I can't wait to meet him, to hold him in my arms, and to see how he will change our lives.

In a few weeks, inshallah, I'll be leaving for the States. I'm planning to give birth in Houston. Mairam and Adda Meera will be accompanying me, inshallah. The thought of being surrounded by my close friends during such an important moment fills me with peace.

However, things have been a little different with Sayyid lately. He's been so distant, so preoccupied with work. He leaves early in the morning and comes back late at night, often after I've already gone to bed—around 11 pm. I haven't had much time with him lately, and while I understand his responsibilities, I can't help but miss him. It feels like we've drifted just a little, and I really wish we could share more moments together, especially now, when so much is happening in our lives.

Well, it's 10 pm now, and as expected, Sayyid is still not home from work.

I was already feeling the weight of exhaustion, so I made my way to the room. I went through my usual night routine, changing into my comfortable pajamas and then walking into Sayyid's room. The soft, familiar scent of the room calmed me, and I laid down on my side of the bed after switching off the light, leaving just the bedside lamp glowing softly in the darkness.

I recited my night duas, feeling grateful for the day, and then grabbed my phone to scroll through Instagram and catch up on a few things. The warmth of the room and the gentle flicker of the lamp were soothing, and soon I could feel myself slipping into a deep sleep.

I woke up to the soft light of the morning pouring into the room, and faint movements stirring around me. I squinted my eyes and looked up, still half-dazed. "Hey, you're back?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, laced with sleep. The tiredness in my voice was unmistakable, but I couldn't help the warmth that spread through me seeing Sayyid finally home.

Here's a reworked version with some added depth:

"Yeah, just got back," Sayyid's voice was low and tired, his words a quiet hum as he stepped into the room.

"Have you eaten dinner? I left it in the dining room. All you have to do is microwave it," I offered, trying to keep the conversation light. But when I didn't hear a response, I looked up from my phone.

"I'm not hungry," he replied flatly, walking toward the bathroom.

Oh, okay...

A wave of disappointment washed over me, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I let out a long sigh, trying to push down the nagging feeling that had settled in my chest. Sayyid had been distant for weeks now, and though I tried to shake it off, it was hard to ignore.

I got up from the bed and trudged downstairs, my energy feeling drained. I packed the food away into the fridge, noting how quiet the house was without the usual hum of conversation. My house help had gone for the weekend, and the other one was sick, leaving me to manage things on my own.

After putting everything away, I slowly made my way back upstairs, hoping maybe things would feel different once Sayyid and I were alone together. I heard the sound of water running in the shower, the only sign that he was still in there.

I returned to the bed, pulling the duvet over myself for warmth and comfort. As I settled in, I noticed Sayyid's phone resting on his bedside table. I reached over to place it back where it belonged when a message notification caught my eye.

It was from an unknown number. My heart skipped a beat.

H Dabo- Today was fun, really glad we had that talk. Still meeting tomorrow right? Same location as everyday? Goodnight *insert red heart*

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, my fingers trembling as I held his phone in my hands, the message still flashing before my eyes. Each word felt like a weight, a knot tightening in my stomach. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and before I could stop myself, the words came spilling out.

"Sayyid, have you been seeing someone? Is that why you come home late every day now?" The question felt like it tore through the quiet of the room.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, there was a long silence, thick with tension. I could feel my pulse racing as I stared at him, waiting for any sign of acknowledgement.

"I asked you a question," I pressed again, this time louder. "Sayyid, didn't you hear me?"

Still nothing. He moved past me toward the closet, not even sparing me a glance, and I could feel the anger bubbling inside me. The way he was avoiding me made my blood boil.

"Sayyid, I am talking to you!" I shouted, standing up, the frustration pushing me further.

He emerged from the closet in a plain grey shirt and pajama pants, his demeanor calm—too calm for my liking. "Don't you ever raise your voice at me, ever," he warned, his tone icy.

I felt a lump form in my throat. My chest was tight, and the words slipped out before I could stop them. "You didn't even try to deny it... you're seeing someone. Oh my god." I could barely catch my breath.

My knees weakened, and I stumbled to the edge of the bed, trying to steady myself. The shock, the disbelief—everything was hitting me at once. "Who is she? I bet it's that whore ex of yours, isn't it?" My voice cracked, and I could feel the tears threatening to spill, but I fought them back.

His eyes darkened at my words, and his expression shifted, the anger now evident in his eyes. "Aidah, don't," he warned, his voice colder than I had ever heard it before, filled with a dangerous edge.

My body was shaking with the weight of everything I was feeling, my heart aching with each word that I forced out of my mouth. The tears wouldn't stop falling, and they blurred my vision as I tried to make sense of the pain I was experiencing.

"Don't what, Sayyid?" I asked, my voice cracking as the emotion overwhelmed me. "Don't you even pity me? I'm carrying your child, Sayyid, and you couldn't even respect that." I placed my hand over my belly, as if to protect the life growing inside me from the pain that now threatened to tear me apart. "What does she have that I don't? Huh? Or is it because I'm pregnant and I can't give you what you need, so you went back running to that whore for it?"

The words left my mouth before I could think, but the rage and hurt felt so real, so raw. The room seemed to close in around me, the tension palpable.

"Shut up, shut up or else I swear to God zan bata miki rai. Can you even hear what you're saying?" Sayyid's voice was cold, controlled—almost too calm—and it made my blood run cold. The threat behind his words was clear, and yet all I could do was feel this crushing weight in my chest.

"What else can you do to me, Sayyid?" I cried, my voice rising with the hurt that had been building inside me. "You've been ignoring me for weeks now, ever since you came back from your trip. Can't you see how I need your support right now? Instead of being by my side, you drew a line in between us. What kind of life is this, Sayyid? We haven't even been married for a year, and we are already at this? I'm tired. Na gaji. I can't stay here and continue living like this."

The sobs were uncontrollable now, my breath hitching as the pain poured out of me. I clutched my stomach tighter, the tears streaming down my face.

"And the worst thing is, Sayyid, you didn't deny having an affair. That's what hurts me the most," I whispered, my heart breaking as I spoke the words aloud.

I could feel my whole world unraveling, and it was as if every moment of happiness we had shared was slipping through my fingers.

The pain in my chest was unbearable, like a weight pressing down on me, crushing my heart. I could feel the tears falling freely, each one a reminder of the broken trust, the broken heart. We locked eyes for a brief moment, and in his, I saw something I didn't expect—guilt. But it wasn't enough. It was just a glimpse, quickly hidden behind the walls he had built.

Why had I allowed myself to fall so deeply in love with him? Why did I believe that he was different? Men were all the same. No matter how much you gave them, no matter how much you loved them, they would always hurt you in the end. And if Sayyid—my husband, the man I thought was the love of my life—could do this to me, then what was the point of trusting any man?

I couldn't think straight. The thoughts were racing, but none of them made sense. I was too hurt, too exhausted. My mind screamed for clarity, but all I felt was a deep, overwhelming ache.

I couldn't stay in that room any longer. I couldn't stand to be near him, near his silence, near his guilt that did nothing to heal my pain. Without another word, I stood up, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind me. The sound echoed in the silence of the house, a loud, final punctuation to everything that had just shattered between us.

I walked down the hall to my room, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I finally reached my bed, I collapsed into it, curling up into a ball as if somehow, doing so would protect me from the storm inside. The sobs were uncontrollable, wracking my body with each breath. My chest ached with every cry, every heartbroken breath I took.

Every inch of my body hurt. Not just physically, but emotionally—like I had been torn apart. My love for him had been so pure, so full, and now, it was a memory—something tainted by betrayal.

I didn't know how long I cried, but the pain didn't fade. It stayed with me, heavy and relentless. And in the quiet of the night, I wondered if this was the end of everything I had once believed in.

Next morning.

The headache throbbed in my temples, making it hard to think clearly, but I pushed through. My eyes felt heavy and blurry, a reminder of the restless night I had spent, drifting in and out of sleep after fajr. I had tried to give myself a pep talk, convincing myself that I needed to think logically, that I needed to let the emotions settle before I made any decisions.

But it wasn't easy. My mind kept racing. Last night, I had let my emotions take over. I didn't give Sayyid the chance to explain himself, and I regretted that now. We were married. Marriage was about communication, trust, and listening to each other. That was what I needed to remind myself of. But even as I thought it, I knew the truth: after seeing that text, I wasn't sure I could trust him again.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog in my mind. I couldn't stay in that house, not right now. I needed to clear my head, get some perspective, and what better place than Ya Ummi's house? I needed her advice, her wisdom, especially after everything that had happened.

I took a quick shower to wash off the emotional exhaustion of the night, then got dressed in a simple boubou and matching veil, making sure I looked put together despite the storm brewing inside me. I grabbed my handbag, glasses, phone, and everything I might need for the day, then headed downstairs.

I barely noticed the car keys in my hand as I stepped out, lost in thought. Without giving it another second's consideration, I started the car and drove to Ya Ummi's house. I needed her now more than ever.

"God, Aidah, you look miserable. What happened?" my sister asked with a concerned tone.

That question broke me completely. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I burst into tears, my body shaking with sobs. Ya Ummi quickly moved to sit next to me, her arms wrapping around me, pulling me close to her. Her presence was like a balm to my aching heart.

"Aidah, what's wrong? Please tell me, meya faru?" she asked softly, her voice filled with motherly concern.

Through my tears, I explained everything—how I found the message, how it shattered my trust, and how hurt I was by Sayyid's distance and the silent accusation in my mind. She listened quietly, without interrupting, as I poured my heart out.

After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. "First, you should not have come here without talking to him first," she began.

I looked up at her, still sniffling. "Ya Ummi, I was so hurt, I couldn't even think straight," I admitted.

She nodded understandingly. "I know how you feel, Aidah. But you should have given him a chance to explain himself. Maybe you misunderstood everything."

Her words made me pause, my chest tightening as I thought about what she was saying. She was right. I hadn't given Sayyid the chance to explain his side, and maybe, just maybe, I had jumped to conclusions. The hurt and betrayal clouded my judgment, but what if there was another explanation? What if I had misinterpreted the situation?

We spent hours talking, Ya Ummi giving me advice, her wisdom flowing as she tried to guide me through the storm of emotions I was trapped in. She told me that in a marriage, sometimes we have to let go of our pride and listen, even when it's hard. Even when we feel like we've been wronged. She urged me to give Sayyid a chance to speak, to clear the air, and to not let this come between us. And she told me, even if I wasn't at fault, sometimes it's best to apologize to keep peace and understanding in the relationship.

She took my hand, looking at me with love and empathy. "You need to talk to him, Aidah. If you don't, this will just fester. You deserve to be happy, but that requires communication. You can't fix this if you don't give him the space to explain. And remember, relationships are built on trust and forgiveness."

I nodded, wiping my tears away. I wasn't sure I was ready to forgive yet, but I knew she was right. If I wanted to move forward, I had to give him that chance.

By the time I left Ya Ummi's house after Asr, I had so many emotions swirling in my chest. There were still unanswered questions, doubts that lingered in my mind, but one thing was clear: I needed to talk to Sayyid. And I had to apologize, even if I didn't feel I was in the wrong.

My phone was full of missed calls and messages from Sayyid, each one more frantic than the last. He was clearly worried, and I couldn't ignore that.

Ya Ummi's words echoed in my mind as I drove home. She was right. I had to confront Sayyid, listen to what he had to say, and give our relationship a chance to heal.

I got home and rushed straight to my room to pray Asr. Once I finished, I came downstairs and walked into the living room, where I found Sayyid, as usual, watching Luther. I sat down on the one-seater couch, facing away from the dining room, and we both fell into a heavy silence for a few minutes. Finally, he broke it.

"Where have you been?" he asked in a calm voice, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

I sighed deeply, trying to keep my emotions in check. "I was at Ya Ummi's house."

He nodded without saying anything more, the tension in the room thickening as the seconds ticked by.

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "Sayyid, I'm sorry for not letting you explain," I began, my voice trembling slightly. "Even though I was the one who got hurt, I'm sorry. And I would like for you to explain whatever that was. I promise I'll listen to you without any interruptions."

I could feel my heart pounding as I finished speaking, hoping that this would give him the chance he needed to explain.

He turned off the TV and then began, his tone sincere but also a little weary. "Hanan's dad's company and mine are working together on an important contract. For some reason, her father set her up to replace him in all the meetings. The contract is crucial for our company, Aidah. Baba specifically warned me about how important this was. We've been working so hard, often staying late in the office. But yesterday, on Friday, we finished everything, and it was a success, Alhamdulillah. I don't even know why Hanan texted me that late at night. She probably thought you would see it and spiral, which you did."

As he spoke, I could feel the weight of his words sinking in. I had jumped to conclusions without hearing him out first, without understanding the full picture. I sniffed, feeling guilty and ashamed of how I had reacted.

"I'm sorry, Sayyid," I said softly, my voice almost a whisper. "I jumped to conclusions and accused you without knowing the whole truth."

He smiled, a little tired but warm, and opened his arms to me. "Come here, fatty," he said, his voice a comforting, gentle tease.

I didn't hesitate. I moved into his arms and buried my face in his chest, feeling the tension in my body melt away as I sank into his warmth. He held me close, running his fingers through my hair.

"I'm sorry too," he mumbled into my hair, his voice low. "For not being by your side the past few weeks."

I tightened my embrace, holding him even closer. "I love you," I whispered, my heart swelling with emotion.

"I love you too, Aidah," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "Always and forever."

We sat together in the quiet of the living room, the soft hum of the world outside barely reaching us as I laid my head on his shoulder, finally feeling at peace again.