2

The distinctive chime of her Eastern anklet heralded her arrival; she stood leaning against the open office door, her torso angled gracefully. He looked up from the papers before him as the potent scent of her luxurious French perfume wafted his way.

He anticipated her next move as she approached, swaying with the delicate grace of her slender figure, deliberately showcasing her long, alluringly bronzed legs in a display that exuded seduction.

He capped his pen and set it aside, then clasped his hands as he watched her. She drew closer—seating herself right on the edge of the desk—and leaned toward him, speaking in a low,

feminine voice tinged with a captivating huskiness:

"How long will you remain buried in those piles of papers, my dear?"

"I have some work to catch up on... Don't wear yourself out waiting for me; I'll be a while."

A flush rose to her face, though she quickly managed to mask it, painting a wide,

playful smile across her lips. She rose slowly to stand behind him, her long fingers reaching out to gently knead his shoulders.

"I prepared dinner for you myself. Let yourself be mine tonight; I promise to take the weight of the world off your shoulders."

His body responded to her deliberate touch, and she leaned close to his ear, whispering in a seductive, soft tone

: "I’ve also drawn you a warm bath to help you relax, my love."

He pulled her by the arm until she was facing him, speaking calmly while his dark eyes danced mischievously over the long necklace—its end disappearing into the plunging neckline of her blue dress

. "What day of the month is it?"

"It's the middle of the month."

"And is tonight an ovulation day, my dear wife?"

She gasped in surprise as he pushed her away and stood up, stepping out of the circle of her seduction and shouting angrily

: "Do you consider me nothing more than a baby-making machine? You only come near me when it suits you—when it’s time for ovulation—but otherwise, I mean nothing to you."

"Darling, you’ve misunderstood... I... I didn't mean it that way. I just miss you."

She lowered her voice and began to toy with his arm, resting her head against his shoulder from behind

: "Didn't you miss me?"

"I missed you terribly... but the old Reem—my wife. Not this pale, frail version. Why do you insist on hurting yourself? And why can't we just live a normal life?"

She pulled away, tears glistening in her eyes:

"There is no normal life without children, Mazen... no normal life when I can't give you the title of 'father'."

"I’ve told you a hundred times: I don't want children if the price is losing you."

Strands of her blonde bangs clung to her forehead, dampened by the intense heat, while the harsh sunlight beat down on her through the window.

She usually detested hot weather and complained at the slightest rise in temperature, but today none of that mattered;

the heat, the noise, the crowded streets—everything seemed distant and hazy, as if events were unfolding behind a thick wall separating her from the world.

She only snapped back to reality when the driver waved his hand in front of her face

. "Miss... we’ve arrived."

She blinked repeatedly, like someone just returning from a faraway place. "Huh... Oh... Yes, sorry."

Her voice came out so faint and weak that she could barely hear it herself.

She quickly handed him the money and stepped out of the car without waiting for the change.

No sooner had she closed the door than the car sped off, leaving behind a faint cloud of hot dust. She stood for a moment before the building, slowly lifting her gaze toward the stacked stories,

then let out a long sigh—a sigh heavy with far more than just air.

She walked toward the entrance with slow, heavy steps, as if the earth were pulling her down.

In the small communal garden at the base of the building, her mother was bent over the flowerbeds, tending the soil around the mint and carnation bushes with her customary care.

As soon as she caught sight of her, she quickly straightened up—dropping the iron trowel she had been holding—and hurriedly pulled off her plastic gloves;

her features softened, revealing a clear sense of relief.

"Asiya... you’re finally back."

She hurried over, wiping her hands on the hem of her worn apron.

"Mr. Hatem stopped by today."

She paused briefly, then added in a low voice that betrayed an anxiety she had tried in vain to conceal:

"He threatened to evict us if we don't pay the overdue rent."

Asiya closed her eyes for a fleeting moment; it felt as though a new stone had been placed upon a chest already buckling under the weight of burdens.

She could barely stand, let alone process what she had heard just hours earlier, yet life relentlessly thrust a new worry upon her. She simply let out a deep, slow sigh and said tersely

: "Alright... I’ll handle it."

The sentence was curt and flat, devoid of any vitality.

Instantly, the mother furrowed her brows and reached toward her daughter’s face, gently grasping her chin to tilt her head up.

No sooner did her gaze fall upon Asia’s features than her expression shifted completely. Anxiety vanished, replaced by sheer panic;

Asia’s face was starkly, alarmingly pale—even her lips had lost their natural color, and her eyes looked sunken and exhausted, like those of someone who hadn't slept in days.

The mother gasped involuntarily.

"Oh, God..."

She froze for a moment before a torrent of questions poured from her lips all at once

: "What happened? Are you okay?"

"What did the doctor say... is it serious?"

Her head ached, her eyelids felt heavy, and her heart was utterly exhausted.

Even answering seemed like a task beyond her strength; she simply offered a barely perceptible nod.

It was such a simple movement, yet it felt as though it drained the last of her energy.

"I'm fine..."

Her voice came out hoarse. Then, after a brief silence, she added

: "I just feel sleepy."

It wasn't really sleepiness, though. It was an escape. It was an overwhelming desire to disappear into her bed and close her eyes for hours on end,

hoping to wake up and find that everything that had happened was nothing more than a nightmare. She walked slowly past her mother, heading inside.

Her mother called out to her, her voice rising slightly, just before she vanished into the building:

"Asia... lunch is ready on the table, my dear."

❈-❈-❈

The scene from the previous day repeated itself in a stifling manner; she was forced to endure that same long wait.

Yet, while the first time had involved only a modicum of anxiety, this time she carried the weight of the world’s worries deep within her.

She sat tense, shifting restlessly in her seat—so much so that two women watched her with sympathetic eyes, assuming she was anxious about something like fertility issues.

Given the gravity and unusual nature of the situation, the doctor called her in first thing that morning.

She entered looking dejected; the doctor felt a pang of pity upon noticing her disheveled appearance—clear evidence that she had not slept the night before and had not even bothered to tidy her clothes or comb her short hair.

"How are you... is everything all right?"

She gave a brief nod. The doctor took out a file containing several test results and laid them out before her, speaking tentatively:

"I personally oversaw these tests... they were even completed faster than usual. I’d like to ask you a question."

"Go ahead."

She cleared her throat, as if embarrassed by what she was about to say:

"I am a doctor, and my profession compels me to keep my patients' secrets, whatever they may be... I mean, if there was a casual encounter—I know that sort of thing happens when one is young..."

She interrupted sharply:

"Of course not... I’m not that reckless."

"Calm down... I just wanted to confirm my suspicions."

"What suspicions?"

"The pregnancy didn't occur naturally—I mean, through marital relations."

"Then how?"

The doctor glanced at the test results again, then slowly removed her glasses. It was as if she were giving Asia one last chance before she heard the unbelievable:

"The pregnancy was achieved artificially—through egg fertilization."

❈-❈-❈