Ibrahim stood frozen, his heart tightening in his chest as her words seeped into him. Her eyes searched his, looking for something-anything-that would give her hope.
"I know you don't love me the way I love you. I can feel it," she continued, her vo...
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Two years later...
The morning sun poured into the room, bathing the soft curtains in a golden glow. Zara is so excited today. She sat in front of the mirror, brushing her long hair, her hands moving slowly, her eyes locked with her own reflection. She looked different now.
Calmer.
Wiser.
But the pain still lingered in the corners of her eyes—like a shadow that refused to fade.
Her fingers paused. The brush stilled.
A deep breath left her lips as the memories came rushing in.
The screams. The hospital. The abduction. The terror of not hearing her son cry. The cold chill when the doctor said, "He's alive... but he's not breathing on his own yet."
And now... here she was. In a warm room. Safe. Loved.
Married to the man she once thought hated her.
A mother to a child she thought she could never have.
"After everything... this is real," she whispered, tears welling up as she looked at the woman she had become. "My fairytale... it came after the storm."
Her hands trembled as she placed the brush down, remembering the crushing silence when they took her son away before she even saw him. How ibrahim has been her strength throughout the journey. Remembering the day he took her to the hospital to meet their son for the first time.
Her throat tightened.
Flashback
The hospital corridor was quiet, the lights dimmed. The smell of antiseptic stung her nose, making it harder to breathe. Ibrahim walked beside her, one hand holding hers tightly, the other pressed into his coat pocket. His eyes hadn't met hers once since they entered the neonatal unit.
Zara's chest grew heavier with each step.
"Ibrahim..." her voice broke, "what if I can't... handle it?"
He stopped. Looked at her. His jaw tightened, eyes clouded with emotion.
"That's exactly what I was afraid of," he said softly. "But he needs you, Zara. We both do."
When they entered the NICU, she froze.
There, inside a transparent incubator, was their son. Tiny. Fragile. Tubes surrounded his body, a small oxygen mask covering his face. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.
Zara's knees buckled.
She gripped the glass edge of the incubator and let out a sound that was neither a sob nor a scream just pain.
