“Our marriage will be fictitious and will last five years from the child’s birthday,”—those words began my wedding night. I snapped my head up sharply. What do you mean? What does that mean? How is that even possible?
“Fictitious? I don’t really understand…”
“Today we signed the documents, remember?” I nodded. “Yes, that happened.”
“In them, besides the standard terms, there are a few more. For both of us, this marriage is a forced measure. After five years, you’ll become a free and well-provided woman. I’ll pay you mahr: you won’t need for anything.”
“But why?”
“Because there is a woman I love. I can’t abandon my child. I can’t send you for an abortion, do you understand? But I can’t love you either.” My hands trembled with humiliation.
“There’s one more condition,” Adel’s voice became quieter and harsher. “Our child. If you give birth to a girl, she will stay with you. If it’s a boy, I’ll take him. The boy needs a masculine upbringing.”
“What?! What are you asking for?!”