I’m 32, pregnant by a married man named Nazir. At first, he wanted nothing to do with it. Months later, when I told him it was a boy, he came back—crying at ultrasounds, even helping with the crib.
Then his wife, Farah, found out. I expected anger. Instead, she asked to meet me. She was calm, almost gentle. She admitted he’d cheated before—but I was the first with a child. Then she offered something shocking: to be at the birth.
When labor came, Nazir didn’t answer. I called Farah. She rushed me to the hospital, held my hand, and coached me through delivery. When my son, Daryan, was born, it was her tears I saw first.
Two months later, she left Nazir—not because of me, but because she realized she deserved better. Now she visits every week, like family.
We were both betrayed. But instead of enemies, we became allies.
Sometimes the woman you think you’ve ruined is the one who saves you.
