MINE (EDITED)

Chapter 36

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The day had arrived. The day Layla had dreaded ever since Muhammad had sat her down, held her hands, and shattered her heart with the news.

Juwairah was going to be her co-wife.

Layla never thought she'd have one, to be honest. Even with all the talks and reminders that polygamy was part of their culture, she had never envisioned herself in such a position. But, unfortunately, this was part of her destiny.

She closed her eyes, exhaling heavily as she sat on the edge of her bed. The house was quiet, eerily so. Sabrina was with her grandmother, which meant Layla had been left alone with nothing but her thoughts.

A sharp pain twisted in her chest.

The happiest thing about all this? She wouldn't be living in the same house as Juwairah. That was a relief. A big one.

The saddest thing? She had to share her husband with someone else.

Her Muhammad.

Her lips trembled, and she clenched her fists in her lap, fighting the emotions threatening to spill over.

"Ya Allah, give me patience."

The news of the wedding had spread like wildfire. Relatives, friends, even people who barely knew her suddenly had something to say. Some pitied her. Some gave her useless advice. Some whispered behind her back, saying she should have expected this, that she should be grateful Muhammad still cared enough to tell her beforehand.

Grateful?

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips.

Would they have said the same if it were them in her place? If their husbands, the men they loved, came home one day and said they were taking another wife, not out of love but out of obligation?

Layla wiped her damp cheeks roughly.

No matter what, the day had come. Juwairah was officially Muhammad's wife now.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Layla's heart ached at the sight before her—Muhammad sitting on the edge of the bed, holding their daughter close, his eyes distant, lost in thought. He looked up as she walked in, and for a moment, there was silence between them. The tension in the room was heavy, suffocating.

She forced a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You should get ready. It's almost time." Her voice was calm, composed—a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her.

Muhammad nodded, shifting Sabrina slightly in his arms. "I know," he murmured. But he made no move to stand, as if delaying the inevitable.

Layla walked closer, standing beside him. She reached out and ran her fingers gently through Sabrina's soft curls. The little girl cooed, oblivious to the turmoil between her parents.

"Do you need help getting dressed?" she asked softly.

His eyes snapped to hers, and for a fleeting second, she saw it—the guilt, the regret, the sorrow buried deep within him. He swallowed hard, then shook his head. "No, I'll manage."

Layla inhaled deeply and nodded. "Okay."

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "Layla..."

She froze, gripping the edge of her boubou tightly.

"I..." he hesitated, then sighed, running a hand down his face. "I'm sorry."

Layla turned around slowly, her expression unreadable. "You're sorry?" she repeated, her voice almost a whisper.