Last night, my husband, Zubair, surprised me with a romantic dinner, which was unusual. After dinner, he confessed to cheating with my cousin, Afsana, who might be pregnant. Shockingly, he called her into our home. Afsana stood there, unapologetic, saying, “You were always too comfortable.” Zubair claimed it wasn’t planned and wanted to “talk about what this means for all of us.” Furious, I left for my sister Laleh’s place, where I broke down.
Zubair and Afsana’s texts were hollow apologies. I ignored them, staying with Laleh while processing the betrayal. A week later, I consulted a divorce attorney. Telling my parents was agonizing; they disowned Afsana. Her parents called it “complicated,” but it was simply wrong.
Three weeks later, Zubair revealed the pregnancy was a false alarm. I felt lighter—they’d destroyed everything for nothing. I moved into a small apartment, painted it green, and built a new life. Months later, I ran into Afsana at an event. She was struggling—Zubair had left her. I felt no sympathy and told her, “You chose this.”
I started volunteering and met Navin, a kind man who became more than a friend. A year later, seeing Zubair’s old coworker while with Navin, I felt truly free. Therapy and time helped me heal. Now, in my cozy apartment, I’ve learned to trust myself and embrace what I’ve gained.
