Mending Broken Hearts

Epilogue

"To love is to accept a soul entirely, not wishing that the person was otherwise, nor hoping for change, nor clinging to some ideal past. To love is to cherish the individual standing before you presently – charms, quirks, and all. To love is to give someone a piece of your heart that you will never, ever reclaim." – Richelle E. Goodrich.

January 2021

Madiha

"Why are you awake so early?" I heard a husky, drowsy voice whisper in my ear as strong arms enveloped my waist from behind.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied, turning to meet his gaze and wound my arms around his neck, drawing him closer, gently pressing my lips against his.

I loved, loved, loved, all our intimate moments, but there was something special about those in the quiet haze of dawn. When his drowsiness didn't dull his raw emotional yearning for me. Whether he reached out to draw me closer while I lay in bed or sought me out when I wasn't, the tenderness of those early mornings was unparalleled. Me with my bed hair and morning breath, with every blemish on full display, was enough for my husband, who had made the last 6 months the happiest ones of my life.

Though, 'happy' felt too trivial a word. Ice cream brought happiness. A child's laughter brought happiness.

My husband, however, brought contentment. Contentment with my life, our relationship, and who I was as a wife, a physician, and a woman. With him in my life, the yearning for anything else vanished. He completed me in every conceivable way.

"Hmmm..." he nuzzled his face in my hair as he held me tightly in his arms. "Come back to bed, I miss you."

Omar, you are making this decision so freaking hard, I silently admitted, knowing full well that even a year ago, I would have had no trouble making the decision that was now looming over my head. But now, how was I supposed to willingly forego moments like these? 

Just then, the baby monitor crackled, and the crying sound of a toddler startled both of us. 

"Does she have a sixth sense or something?" Omar groaned, letting go of me. 

"She is a toddler in a new environment. She probably just needs a bottle and will go back to sleep," I replied to him, already missing the warmth of his body engulfing mine. 

"Fine," grumbled again. "Go pick her up. I'll get the bottle"

I could already here the sweet toddler voice calling out for me when I entered the room, 'M-kala, M-kala..."

"Madi Khala is here. Ayah, don't you worry baby. Omar khaloo is bringing your milk," I told Noor's daughter as the little one extended her arms up to me, asking me to get her out of her portable playpen. 

Noor had told me not to let her get out of there till it was time for her to actually wake up, but I couldn't bring myself to resist those puppy eyes, so I picked her up and bought her to our bed. 

"Your Mama and Baba can sleep train you on their own time. Right now I get to enjoy you," I whispered to the adorable toddler who was already closing her eyes as she snuggled against my chest. 

A minute later, Omar entered the room carrying a milk bottle and hmphed at scene in front of him. "Wait, she gets my wife and my bed? Why is Salman's kid can such a kabab mein haddi? Just like her father."

"Shhh..." I raised a finger to my mouth, gesturing to Omar to be quiet. "She is almost asleep."

This was only Ayah's second night with us, but taking care of her hadn't been as tough as I thought it might be. After COVID vaccinations were made accessible to healthcare workers, Omar and I were finally able to convince Noor and Salman to leave Ayah with us and take a much needed weekend off.