She had said we could decide later.
But she had never told me that she would resent the child if we had one.
The nurse asked, “How did you decide to continue the pregnancy?”
My wife looked at me. matghdhach azbu
“Because he wanted the baby.”
The words left a silence behind them.
I felt something inside me shift.
Not sympathy.
Not anger.
Something colder.
I realized that she had been treating the pregnancy as a sacrifice she had made for me, while I had been treating it as something we had chosen together.
Neither of us had understood the same marriage.
But there was still one question I couldn’t let go.
“If you never wanted to be a mother,” I said, “why didn’t you tell me before the baby was born?”
She looked away.
“I thought I’d change.”
The nurse waited.
My wife rubbed her hands together.
“Everyone told me it would feel different when the baby arrived.”
“And it didn’t?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“It got worse.”
That was the first honest answer she had given me all night.
Then a doctor appeared at the end of the hallway.
“The baby’s evaluation is complete for now.” matghdhach azbu
I stood immediately.
My wife rose too.
The doctor looked at me first.
“The baby is stable. We are continuing to monitor for any delayed problems, but the immediate examination is reassuring.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Stable.
That single word was the first good thing I had heard since the bathroom.
I started toward the hallway.
My wife followed.
The nurse stopped her.
“Please wait here.”
My wife stared at her.
“That’s my baby.”
“Right now, the baby needs a calm environment.”
She looked at me.
“Tell them I’m the mother.”
I didn’t answer.
She took another step.
“Please.”
It was the first time she had said please.
But I still couldn’t move toward her.
The doctor led me to the room. matghdhach azbu
Our baby was lying beneath a small hospital blanket, tiny hands moving restlessly.
I touched one of those hands with my finger.
The baby curled around it.
I started crying.
Not because everything was okay.
Because it wasn’t.
