Amina walked into the sitting room slowly. The morning light washed over everything, making the room brighter than it deserved to be. Her father stood beside the center table, tense but collected. Maryam sat on the edge of the cushion like someone expecting a verdict.
Amina took the chair opposite her.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then her father cleared his throat. "We are here to talk. Not to fight. No one is raising their voice today."
Maryam nodded, but her eyes stayed on Amina — not with anger, not fully — but with something uncertain, almost frightened.
Amina waited.
Her father gestured to Maryam. "Start."
Maryam swallowed hard. "Amina… I wasn't fair to you."
The sentence sounded as if it scraped her throat on the way out.
"I know," Amina said quietly.
Maryam blinked, as if surprised Amina didn't attack her.
"I felt threatened," Maryam continued. "From the first day I realized your father… still carried memories of your mother. I thought you would take him from me. I thought if I didn't… control things, I would lose everything."
Amina listened. She didn't soften, but she didn't stiffen either.
"That doesn't excuse what you did," her father said, tone firm.
Maryam nodded. "I know. And I'm not trying to make excuses." She rubbed her palms together. "I crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed. I hurt Amina. I made this house difficult for her. And I'm sorry for that."
Amina felt something shift inside her — not forgiveness, not yet — but recognition. The truth was finally being spoken aloud, not whispered behind walls or buried under insults.
"I needed to hear you say it," Amina replied. "Because for years you acted like I imagined everything."
Maryam's eyes glistened. "No. You didn't imagine it. I knew what I was doing."
The room grew still.
Her father spoke next. "Amina deserves peace in this house. From now on, things must change."
Maryam nodded again, slower this time. "I understand."
Amina leaned forward. "I'm not asking you to like me. I'm not even asking you to be a mother to me. I just want respect. Basic respect. That's all."
"You'll have it," Maryam whispered.
Amina watched her closely. Her posture wasn't defensive. Her voice wasn't sharp. She looked like someone standing in the ruins of her own choices.
"Alright," Amina said. "Then we start from there."
Her father let out a breath he'd been holding for years.
But it wasn't over.
Maryam wiped her face and turned to her husband. "Suleiman… tell me the truth. Do you regret marrying me?"
The question hung in the air. Heavy. Dangerous.
Amina looked away, feeling like she was intruding on a wound that wasn't hers.
Her father didn't answer immediately. He sank onto the single-seater and pressed his fingers together in thought.
Finally, he said, "I regret the pain that came into this house. But I don't regret giving us a chance. Maybe we all came into this marriage carrying too many shadows."
Maryam stared at the floor. Something tightened in her jaw, but she nodded.
Amina felt a strange wave of relief not because everyone was magically healed, but because the truth was finally being dealt with instead of pushed aside.
Her father turned to Amina. "Are you comfortable staying here for now? If you want space, we can arrange it."
Amina shook her head. "I don't want to run. I've run too long. I just want this house to breathe again."
Her father smiled faintly tired but proud.
Maryam whispered, "We can try. All of us."
Amina didn't smile back. But she didn't turn away either.
It was a start.
Later, when Amina stepped outside for air, her phone buzzed again.
Usman.
"Thinking about you. Hope it went well."
Amina sat on the doorstep and typed:
"It wasn't easy. But something changed today. For the first time in years… we actually talked."
He replied:
"I'm proud of you."
She rested the phone on her lap and looked at the sky.
Not everything was fixed. Not even close.
But the ground beneath her no longer felt like it was breaking.
For the first time in a long time, she felt the possibility of peace.
Not because others gave it to her
but because she demanded it.