“I will. I promise.”
Mehar pushed off the doorframe. “Well, I guess this means you won’t be taking me to the club anytime soon.” She laughed, light and easy.
I looked at her. Making jokes about going to the club.
A month ago, she couldn’t even show her hair in public.
I should’ve been happy for her. And I was. But I was also worried. Because the freedom she’d craved for so long was finally here, and I had no idea what she was going to do with it.
“The club is the last thing on my mind right now,” I said carefully.
“I know.” Mehar shrugged. “But maybe after. When things calm down. I’ve never been to one. Ahmad thought they were haram.” She rolled her eyes. “Everything was haram to him. Dancing. Music. Happiness.”
There was an edge to her voice. A darkness that flickered beneath the surface before she smiled again.
I made a mental note to keep an eye on her. My sister had been through hell. She deserved freedom, yes. But she also needed healing. And I wasn’t sure those two things were going to happen at the same pace.
Later that night,I stood on the deck, looking out at the water.
The moon was full, casting silver light across the waves. The air was cold and salty, filling my lungs with each breath.
I pulled out my phone. Opened my messages. Found the thread I’d started months ago—the one I used when I needed to talk to my sister.
I knew she’d never read them. Knew these messages disappeared into the void. But it helped. Made me feel like she was still there, somehow. Still listening.
Me:Hey Za. It’s me. Again.
Me:I have news. Big news.
Me:I’m pregnant.
I paused. Watched the cursor blink.
Me:You’re going to be an auntie.
Me:I wish you were here. I wish I could tell you in person. I wish you could meet Prime and see how happy he makes me.
Me:I’m scared, Za. Everything is falling apart and I’m bringing a new life into this mess. What if I can’t protect this baby? What if I fail like I failed Yusef?
Me:But I’m also happy. Isn’t that crazy? In the middle of all this chaos, I’m happy. Because this baby is proof that something good can come from pain. That love can grow even in the darkest places.
Me:I miss you every day. I carry you with me everywhere I go.
Me:Watch over us, okay? Me, the baby, Yusef, Prime. We need all the help we can get.
Me:I love you, sis. Always.
I hit send. Watched the messages disappear into the digital void.
Then I put my phone away and placed my hand on my stomach. Flat still. No bump yet. But there was life in there. A tiny heartbeat that would grow stronger every day.
“We’re gonna be okay,” I whispered to the baby. To myself. To Zahara. “We’re gonna get through this. All of us.”
The waves crashed against the shore. The moon hung heavy in the sky.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt something other than fear.
I felt hope.
