SANA – The Specialist Appointment

The specialist's office smelled of polished wood, expensive air freshener, and the faint trace of phenyl from the corridor outside. Too quiet. Too clean. The kind of place where bad news was delivered in soft voices and careful, measured words that still cut like surgical blades.

Rahim sat beside me on the stiff leather sofa, his knee bouncing once before he forced it still with visible effort. His hand found mine and squeezed too hard — the same desperate grip he had used in the car the night the truck hit us. I let him hold it. My fingers stayed limp in his, cold and unresponsive.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman in her fifties wearing a crisp white coat over a simple navy saree, opened the thick file and tapped the ultrasound images with her pen. The screen glowed with greys and blacks that meant nothing to me anymore.

"The uterine scarring is irreversible," she said gently, her voice full of practised sympathy. "The lining will not support another pregnancy. Even surrogacy carries high risks given the trauma. I'm truly sorry, Sana. I wish I had better news."

The words landed like stones in still water.

Irreversible. Negligible chances. High risks.

I nodded the way I had nodded in every hospital since the accident — polite, distant, already retreating somewhere deep inside myself where the words couldn't cut any deeper. Rahim thanked her too many times. His voice cracked on the last "thank you," breaking on the final syllable. The doctor slid pamphlets across the glossy table — support groups for grieving mothers, adoption agencies in Dhaka, counselling centres near Gulshan. I folded them neatly and put them in my bag like they were ordinary grocery receipts.

The drive home through Gulshan traffic was completely silent. Rickshaws splashed through puddles left by the afternoon shower, CNG horns blared endlessly, and the evening Maghrib azaan began floating from the mosque near the lake, mixing with the call of street vendors selling jhal muri. Rahim gripped the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white. I counted the passing buildings outside the window. Anything to avoid looking at him.

When we reached the apartment, he parked but didn't turn off the engine right away. I went inside first. The nursery door was still closed, as it had been for twenty months. The tiny yellow clothes were still folded neatly on the shelf like silent accusations. The faint scent of jasmine oil and old baby powder still lingered in the air no matter how many times I cleaned.

That night, I was folding laundry in the bedroom when I heard Rahim on the balcony. His voice was low, but the window was open and the humid night air carried every word.

"...Ma, I understand. But Sana is my wife... Yes, I know about the firm... A man needs a child to carry the family legacy, I know that too... But time is running out? Ma, please stop. I can't do this to her."

My heart clenched painfully. I stood frozen behind the thin curtain, one hand still holding a folded salwar, listening to the man I loved fight for me.

He kept talking, voice growing more strained with every sentence.

"No... I'm not saying I don't want a child. I want one more than anything in this world. But not like this. I will not bring another woman into this house while Sana is still my wife. She has suffered enough."

The call ended with a sharp sigh. When Rahim came back inside, he looked exhausted, shoulders slumped, eyes red. He didn't know I had heard every single word.

A few days later, they took it further.

His mother called one evening saying there was an urgent family matter at his chacha's house in Mirpur. Rahim went, thinking someone was sick or needed money for a wedding. He came back late that night, the smell of cigarette smoke and heavy rain clinging to his panjabi.

The moment he stepped into the bedroom, I knew something was terribly wrong. His shoulders were rigid. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle jumped.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor for a long time before speaking.

"They tricked me, Sana."

His voice was rough, almost broken.

"They said it was just a family gathering. Then they brought a girl. Shabnam. Twenty-six. From a good family in Banani. They started talking about how suitable she is... how healthy she looks... how she can give me strong children... how it would be a pious act to help her family too."

He let out a bitter laugh that didn't sound like him at all.

"I told them right there in front of everyone — Chachas, Bhabhis, even Priya — I have a wife. I will never do this to Sana."

Then he broke completely.

He pulled me into his arms and cried — hard, shaking sobs against my neck that made his whole body tremble. "I don't want to lose you," he whispered repeatedly, voice hoarse and desperate. "I will never do that to you. Never. I don't care what they say about legacy or the firm or what people are whispering in the WhatsApp groups. I can't lose you. I won't survive losing you too."

I held him tightly, stroking his hair while my own scars burned hotter than ever under my nightie. His body trembled against mine, and for the first time in many months, I felt the full weight of his fear and love.

But deep down, in the quietest corner of my heart, I knew this was only the beginning of something much larger.

The pressure wasn't going to stop.

His mother's messages grew colder and more frequent. The relatives' whispers became louder in every family call. Even our neighbours had started giving "concerned" looks. And I could feel the sharp, hungry want for a child growing inside Rahim every single day — even as he fought against it with everything he had.

That night, after he finally fell asleep with his head on my chest, I pressed my palm against my lightning scars and felt them throb in time with my heartbeat.

My body had already failed us.

Now I was terrified that the man I loved was slowly being torn apart between his love for me... and the one thing his entire joint family would never stop demanding.

A child of his own blood.

And for the first time, I wondered how long our love could survive before that demand finally won.

Author's Note 

This chapter was heavy... the family pressure is starting to crack Rahim, and Sana overheard everything.

Tell me in the comments:

How are you feeling about Rahim after this? 

Do you think he will be able to resist the pressure for long? 

Is Sana's fear justified?

Vote if this chapter hit you emotionally. 

Comment your thoughts — I read every single one. Next chapter tomorrow at 8:30 PM BDT.

Thank you for staying with this painful journey 🖤