– You rejected me. I am no longer your wife," she said, not daring to look at him again. "And I do not follow your rules.
– You gave birth to a son. And you hid it from me.
I clenched my fingers, wringing the handkerchief.
– He is my child.
– No," Niyaz cut it short. "He is mine. And he will live with me.
– You are married," I reminded him. "You have another family.
– It doesn’t matter," the former husband replied, sharply. "A boy won’t grow up without a father. His place is in my house.
– Once you already took everything away from me," I whispered. "It won’t work again.
– You know the traditions. It’s not for you to decide," Niyaz answered.
Six years ago, my husband threw me out of his home with disgrace, deciding that I had betrayed him. My parents supported him. I was left alone—with a child under my heart, with no roof over my head and no help from relatives. Today, Niyaz Karaev has returned—not for forgiveness, but for my son. Only I am no longer that weak and defenseless girl who blindly believed in kindness and justice. And if war is inevitable, I will see it through to the end—even if his whole family is against me.