Chapter 170

Would my Hayder have accepted me if he was here? Understood me? And loved me? Hayder existed only in a past that no longer breathed, and ghosts make poor husbands. The question circles in my mind like smoke I cannot clear away, because even after all this time I still picture his face, gentle and steady, the way he used to look at me as though I held something precious no one else could see. I wonder if that same gaze would have stayed soft when he learned the full truth, or if it too would have hardened into something distant and unrecognizable, the way so many others have. With a child in my belly, my thoughts have changed. I feel numb most hours of the day, as though a thick fog has settled over every feeling, dulling the edges so nothing cuts quite as sharply anymore.

Numbness is not peace—it is exhaustion pretending to be calm. I hate this child but when I pay attention to this word, “hate,” I wonder do I have it in me to hate a life, an innocent heartbeat that had no say