As I stood in front of the mirror, taking in the reflection of the woman I had just become, my heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. The black dress hugged my figure perfectly, the delicate lace accents adding just the right touch of elegance. My hair cascaded in soft waves, and the makeup highlighted my features in a way that made me feel both beautiful and confident. I was ready for tonight.Just as I was about to take a deep breath to steady myself, I heard the front door open. Rami's voice echoed through the house, and I felt a flutter of anticipation. I knew he was home."Dema?" he called out, his tone warm and inviting. I stepped out of my room, feeling like I was stepping onto a stage. The moment he turned to look at me, his expression shifted from casual curiosity to complete astonishment. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed speechless. “Wow,” he finally managed to say, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “You look incredible.”A rush of warmth fl
"I was in my room revising the business and marketing strategies that I had studied in university when I heard a knock on my door. I looked up from my book and notebooks and said, 'Come in.'To my surprise, the one who walked in was Rami. He smiled gently as he entered and said, 'Hey, you look busy. What are you doing?'I smiled back and replied, 'I'm revising. You see, I was hoping you'd allow me to help you a bit. I'm really good at marketing and planning business strategies. I've got so many ideas, and I promise you I won't disappoint you.'He walked over to me, picked up one of my notebooks, scanned my handwriting, then put it down and turned his attention to me. 'Sure,' he said, 'I was actually thinking the same thing. Tomorrow, I'll introduce you to the marketing team. I'll tell the head of the marketing department to give you special training, and then I'll make you a manager. How does that sound?'I jumped up and down in excitement, exclaiming, 'Thank you, thank you, thank you
As I walked into the office that morning, I was filled with a fresh sense of purpose and a new motivation.The last time I was here, I was known as Dema, the CEO's wife. To everyone else, that was my identity, but inside, I felt like a pathetic girl playing the role of the wealthy boss's spouse. My actions were driven by a desperate need to prove my worth to him, to convince him that he needed me by his side and wouldn’t discard me when he was done. I never even dared to consider that he might actually come to like me, let alone fall in love with me.But this morning marked a turning point. For the first time in my life, I woke up free from worries and the haunting remnants of past nightmares.I had breakfast with my husband, who shared his plans for the day. We enjoyed coffee together, and he even asked for my opinion on his outfit and which watch suited him best. He encouraged me to take my time and mentioned that I didn’t have to work the early shift. The old me would have rejected
As I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of my dress, a sense of nervous excitement fluttered in my chest. Tonight was important. I had spent days preparing for this charity event, carefully crafting my speech, making sure every word would leave an impact. Public speaking wasn’t exactly my forte, but I felt ready this time. The speech was heartfelt, personal—something I knew would resonate with the audience.I smoothed my dress one last time, the deep blue fabric falling perfectly against my figure. It was modest yet elegant—appropriate for an event focused on helping those in need. I grabbed my notecards, tucking them neatly into my clutch, and took a deep breath before heading out.The venue was grander than I expected, with twinkling fairy lights lining the entrance and a red carpet rolled out along the way. As I walked inside, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor, I took in the beautifully decorated hall. Everything was perfect—until I caught sight of the
I stood in front of the mirror, watching as my stylist made the final adjustments to my outfit. The deep emerald-green dress hugged my figure perfectly, its silky fabric flowing elegantly down to my ankles. The subtle gold accents on the cuffs and neckline added just the right touch of sophistication. My makeup was flawless—soft, yet striking—and my hair fell in perfect waves over my shoulders. For once, I felt completely in control."Perfect," my stylist said with a satisfied smile, stepping back to admire her work.I took a deep breath. Today, I wasn’t going to let my mother-in-law catch me off guard. The last time she invited me for tea, she had dissected my outfit, my manners, and practically everything else with that sharp, scrutinizing gaze of hers. But today? Today, I was ready.Arriving at her house, I walked into the grand sitting room, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She was already seated by the window, sipping tea from one of her impossibly delicate porc
As I stood in front of the mirror, the soft glow of the vanity lights illuminated my reflection. I was in the final stages of getting ready for the commercial event featuring Rami's company, and my heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. I carefully adjusted the collar of my blouse, making sure it sat perfectly against my skin. The dress I had chosen was elegant yet professional, a deep navy blue that complemented my complexion. I wanted to make a good impression—not just for myself, but for Rami and his company.Just as I was applying the final touches of makeup, I heard the soft click of the door opening behind me. I turned slightly to see Rami walk in, and my breath caught in my throat. He looked stunning, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed luxury. The fabric glimmered under the lights, and I could tell it was one of those high-end brands that only a select few could afford. His confidence filled the room, and for a moment, I was taken aback by how effortlessly he ca
Today I woke up sick, each time I cough, it feels like my skull is going to split open. I knew I shouldn't have gone into the office yesterday, even though we were short-staffed. Now, I'm paying the price. I squint at my laptop screen, trying to focus on the budget report. It's a blurry mess of numbers. Thank goodness for video conferencing. At least I can supervise the team remotely."Dema, habibti, you look terrible." Tala's voice is soft and concerned. She's holding a steaming mug, the fragrant scent of mint tea wafting towards me. "Here, I made you some tea. It will make you feel better."I manage a weak smile. "Thanks, Tala. You're an angel." I take the mug gratefully, the warmth seeping into my chilled hands. "How's my temperature?"Tala places the back of her hand on my forehead. "Still a little high. You should rest, Dema. Don't worry about work. They can handle it."I know she's right, but I can't help but feel guilty. "I just need to finish reviewing this report..." I trail
The salt spray kissed my face as I stepped out of the car, the scent of the ocean a welcome counterpoint to the nervous flutter in my stomach. Rami's s uncle's beach house was always a scene, a whirlwind of extended family, boisterous laughter, and the inevitable comparisons. I smoothed down the silk of my dress, a masterpiece from a boutique in the city and adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on my nose. "You look like you're going to the Oscars, not a family barbecue," Rami grumbled, his brow furrowed. I rolled my eyes, a practiced move. "Rami your mother will be there. I can't just show up in jeans and a t-shirt. I have to look the part." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The part of what? A fashion magazine cover? You're going to feel suffocated in that thing." "And you'd rather I show up looking like I haven't left the house in weeks? Let's be realistic, Rami. Appearances matter. Especially when your mother is around." He knew I was right. Rami's mother, bles
Three months later : The sun was warm against my skin as I lounged on the soft sand, the sound of gentle waves lapping at the shore. Our little girl was napping in the shade, and for the first time in months, Rami and I were completely at ease—no work, no responsibilities, just us. I watched as Rami walked toward me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I have a surprise for you," he said, his voice low and playful. "A surprise?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He had been acting a little secretive all morning. "Close your eyes," he instructed, grinning. I laughed but obeyed, squeezing my eyes shut. I felt him place something small and cool in my palm. "Okay, open them." When I did, I found a small velvet box resting in my hand. My heart skipped—was this what I thought it was? But when I flipped it open, there was a polished key. I looked up at him, confused. "What’s this for?" His smile widened. "It’s the key to a treasure box." I blinked. "A… treasure box?" "Mmhmm.
It's 7 AM, and I'm still awake. My baby cried inconsolably throughout the night. I didn't know what was wrong with her. I fed her, changed her diaper, and put her in her crib, but she wouldn't settle down. Then she had a prolonged crying fit; I tried everything to soothe her—rocking, singing lullabies, even offering a pacifier—but nothing worked. Finally, as a last resort, I put on a YouTube video of children's colors, and she miraculously fell asleep watching it. Even after she finally drifted off, I couldn't rest. I tossed and turned, my mind racing. The worst part was replaying my conversation with my mother-in-law and her incredibly hurtful words: "It's just the nature of rich men like them." The casual cruelty of her statement stunned me. I couldn't believe she had endured such blatant disrespect and mistreatment for over thirty years. Part of me felt a deep sorrow for her, a sense of empathy for the pain she'd silently carried. However, that sorrow was quickly overshad
The afternoon sun was warm against my skin as I pushed the stroller along the beach, the sound of waves lapping at the shore a quiet comfort. My little girl cooed softly, her tiny fingers reaching toward the sky as if trying to catch the breeze. For a moment, everything felt peaceful—until my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my stomach tightening as I read the message. "I’m coming to take you and the baby to the doctor for her vaccine. Be ready." My mother-in-law’s words left no room for argument. I didn’t want to go with her—I didn’t want her hovering over me, dictating every little thing—but I knew better than to refuse. By the time she arrived, I had already buckled the baby into her car seat, my movements stiff with forced obedience. The moment we got in the car, she started talking—no, lecturing—about infant diseases, how to prevent them, what symptoms to watch for. Her voice filled the space, leaving no air for me to breathe. I stayed quiet, staring out the wind
I woke up to an empty bed, the space beside me cold and untouched. Rami wasn’t home—again. But for once, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see him. The heaviness in my chest wasn’t sadness this time, just exhaustion. My hand instinctively rested on my belly, the gentle curve of my baby girl reminding me of what truly mattered. She was my focus now—we were my focus. No more waiting, no more begging for scraps of attention. If Rami wanted to disappear, let him. I stretched slowly, savoring the quiet. No arguments, no tension—just peace. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I could breathe. Today wasn’t about him. Today was about us and that was enough.Two days. Two whole days, and Rami hadn’t come home. And you know what? I didn’t care. Not enough to call, not enough to ask. When he finally walked through the door, I didn’t even glance his way. He lingered around, pretending like everything was normal, until two hours later, he finally decided to speak. "How’s the baby
The baby coos softly in my arms, her tiny fingers curling around mine. She’s so perfect—her dark eyes wide and curious, her lips puckered in a little pout. What will we call you, habibti? Across from me, Rami' mother beams, reaching over to stroke the baby’s cheek. "Look at her smile! She’s a Farah, through and through."My grip tightens just a little. Farah. The name hangs in the air like an expectation. "I was thinking… maybe Sora,"I say carefully. "Or Asmaa." Rami's mother waves a hand dismissively. "Sora is nice, but Farah is personal. It was my mother’s name—bless her soul—and it would mean so much to us to carry it on."I swallow hard. Of course. Always family. Always tradition. "I just… I want her to have her own special name," I murmur, tracing the baby’s delicate eyebrows. "Something that represents her."Rami's mother sighs, shaking her head like I’m being sentimental. "Habibti, names are gifts. Farah means joy—and look at her! She’s already filling this house with it.
The hospital room feels too bright, too sterile, as I gather the last of my things. My body still aches, a dull throb reminding me of what I’ve just been through. But that’s not what’s twisting inside me. It’s him. Rami. Standing there, clueless as ever, flashing that easy smile like nothing’s wrong. “You ready to go, Habibti?” he asks, reaching for my bag. I tighten my grip on it and brush past him without a word. Let him wonder. Let him think I’m just some hormonal mess, exhausted from giving birth. If he were paying attention at all, he’d know this isn’t about fatigue. His mother swoops in with her usual efficiency, cooing over the baby in my arms. “Mashallah, what a beautiful baby” she murmurs, her fingers brushing her tiny cheek. Then, to me, in that tone that’s half sweetness, half command: “Don’t worry, Dema, I’ll stay with you for a few days. You’ll need help.” I force a tight smile. I don’t want her there. Not now. Not when every glance at Rami makes my chest burn. B
The pain is unbearable. It’s been a whole day since my water broke, and still, nothing. My body is shaking, drenched in sweat, my muscles screaming in protest with every contraction. The nurses hover around me, their faces tight with worry. I hear them whispering to my mother-in-law—something about a c-section. No. I don’t want that. I wanted to do this naturally. I wanted to be strong. But I’m not strong anymore. I’m broken. My mother-in-law tells them to wait. Just one more hour, she says. Maybe I’ll push through. Maybe my body will finally listen. The hour passes in a blur of agony. I’m so tired. My vision swims, the edges darkening. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. My limbs feel like lead, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I’m slipping. My head hearts even more than my body. Then I hear a voice. It was Soft but firm. Telling me to be strong. I could feel a hand gripping mine, warm and steady. "Be brave, Dema. You can do this." I don’t know who it is—maybe my mother in l
I sigh, tossing my phone onto the couch beside me. Another dull afternoon trapped inside. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, but what can I do? The doctor said no unnecessary outings, no stress—just rest. Rest. Like I haven’t been resting for months already. My fingers drum against my swollen belly, frustration simmering beneath my skin. I reach for the remote, flipping through channels mindlessly. Nothing holds my attention. Just stupid talk shows and reruns of dramas I’ve already seen. Then—I got a message. A message from Rola. I grab my phone, grateful for any distraction. It’s a video. Probably some gossip or event she’s at, rubbing it in that she’s out there living while I’m stuck here like a prisoner in my own home. I tap the screen, and the video loads. It’s some commercial event—flashy lights, cameras, people dressed to impress. And there he is. My Rami. My lips twitch into a small smile at first. He looks good, confident, charming the crowd like always. I s
A sharp pain jolts me awake, my breath catching in my throat. I clutch my swollen belly, waiting—hoping—for it to fade. But then another one comes, tighter this time, and panic prickles under my skin. Is this it? I fumble for my phone, hands trembling as I dial Rami first. He answers on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. "Dema? What's wrong?" "I—I think it's happening," I whisper, my throat tight. I can almost hear him springing out of bed. "I'm coming right now. Call my mother." The next call is a blur—my mother-in-law's calm voice cutting through my fear, promising she'll be here soon. By the time I hang up, sweat beads at my temples. She arrives before Rami does, her steady hands guiding me to sit while she calls an ambulance. "Better safe than sorry," she murmurs, smoothing my hair back. The ride to the hospital is a haze of contractions and nervous breaths. Rami meets us there, his face pale, his grip crushing my fingers as the doctors check me. Then—the verdict