Not because he suddenly approved of everything I had done, but because we were finally speaking honestly.
My relationship with my mother healed more slowly.
She still worried about relatives and what people might say. Sometimes she slipped back into old habits, comparing me with other women or reminding me of the expectations I had once tried so hard to fulfill.
But she began asking different questions.
Instead of asking whether Zayd intended to marry me, she asked whether I enjoyed spending time with him.
Instead of asking whether people respected me, she asked whether I felt respected.
And one evening, while we were preparing dinner together, she turned toward me and said something I had waited years to hear.
“Layla, are you happy?”
I stopped what I was doing.
For a moment, I couldn’t answer.
Then I smiled through my tears.
“I’m learning how to be.”
She reached for my hand.
