<p>As usual, I was lying on my large bed, indulging in my regular nightly ritual—crying. It had become my routine ever since I found myself in this new chapter of life. The sound of the door opening prompted me to quickly stifle my sobs; I didn’t want the kids to see me in such a state.</p><p>It was Iman who walked in, trying to wake me up, thinking I was asleep.</p><p>“Aunty! Aunty! Wake up. Daddy said you should prepare us for bed because we have school tomorrow.”</p><p>I wiped my tears with the edge of my hijab before sliding down from the bed. I gave Iman a bath, dressed her in her pink nightgown, and tied her hair neatly with a band.</p><p>“Go and call Shahida to come to bed as well,” I said, pointing towards the door, trying to avoid her chatter, which was beginning to give me a headache after all the crying I had done.</p><p>They both returned together, holding yogurt in their hands.</p><p>“Aunty, look! Daddy bought us this, and we’ve already finished the chocolate one in his sitting room,” Shahida said, showing me the yogurt container.</p><p>I smiled and said, “That’s nice of Daddy. Did you thank him?”</p><p>“Yes, we did, but Shahida didn’t,” Iman quickly added.</p><p>“Really, my baby?” I asked Iman, stroking her head as I noticed she was getting sleepy.</p><p>I picked her up easily, as light as I was, and laid her on the bed. Then, I turned to Shahida, gave her a bath, and dressed her for bed. After reciting prayers with them and ensuring they were asleep, I prepared for my bath.</p><p>I changed into my cream-colored nightwear and sprayed myself with perfume. I loved the smell of fragrance; it always lifted my spirits. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. No one needed to tell me—I had lost weight. How could I not? I was always working, taking care of the kids, and crying my eyes out every night.</p><p>I missed Amminah. I truly did. But it seemed as though she and Abbi had forgotten about me. Even when I tried to call them, the calls never connected. Loneliness was starting to weigh on me. Once Iman and Shahida left for school in the morning, the house became empty until evening. As for my husband, there were times I didn’t see him for five, six, or even seven days.</p><p>Everyone has their struggles, but mine seems unbearable, I thought. I, Khadija, the last child of my mother, had never imagined my life turning out like this. This wasn’t the life I envisioned for my marriage. But even with all this, I was grateful to Allah and accepted my fate.</p><p>I know you’re eager to hear my full story, so here’s how it all began:</p><p>FLASHBACK</p><p>My full name is Khadija Isah Muhd. We are Hausa by ethnicity, living in Kano, specifically in Karkasa. My father was a civil servant—not wealthy, but we lived a modest and happy life, always striving to make each other smile.</p><p>My mother gave birth to five of us, all girls. This brought scorn from my father’s relatives, who labeled her as a “mother of girls” who couldn’t produce a boy. As if anyone has control over what they bear! This tension created a rift between my mother and my father’s family, so much so that we dreaded visiting them. Even my father eventually gave up on trying to bridge the gap.</p><p>My eldest sister, Aisha, was the firstborn, followed by Ruqayya, then Fatima, and Zainab. After Zainab, my mother had another child who sadly didn’t survive. For years, she couldn’t conceive again until she unexpectedly became pregnant with me. Everyone placed their hopes and love on that pregnancy, praying for a safe delivery.</p><p>When I was born, they said I inherited all the beauty in the family. People claimed I was the most beautiful of all my siblings, even as an infant.</p><p>I grew up surrounded by love and care from my parents and sisters, who spoiled me endlessly. Anything brought into the house was labeled “for the last-born,” and my father never came home without bringing me a gift.</p><p>By the time I was in Primary 5, my eldest sister, Aisha, got married and moved to Sharada. Her absence left a void in the house. I missed her dearly, even though I was too young to fully understand the depth of our bond. I often shared my problems with her, and she would resolve them without our mother knowing.</p><p>After Aisha left, the house grew quieter. Ruqayya was away at CAS, a college in Kano. Fatima had finished her secondary education and was awaiting her results, so she was home more often. Zainab, now in SS1, was busy with school. And I was preparing for my Common Entrance exams.</p><p>When the exams came, we did our best. But one day, my father dropped a bombshell that shocked everyone—he planned to send me to boarding school. My mother resisted vehemently, but eventually, she relented. I, on the other hand, cried nonstop.</p><p>Despite my protests, they took me to Dala Girls Boarding School. I cried so much during the first term, but my pretty looks and cleanliness attracted the favor of the seniors, which made things slightly easier.</p><p>When it was time for our first break, I was overjoyed. My father picked me up on his motorcycle, and as soon as we got home, my siblings had gathered, with a feast awaiting me as if I had returned from Malaysia! That day was one of the happiest of my life.</p><p>It was also during that break that I learned of Ruqayya’s wedding plans. However, the sad part was that the wedding would take place while I was back at school. I cried and threw tantrums, but my status as the “spoiled last-born” didn’t change the situation.</p>
