(Mina's POV)
The Dared family house was less a home and more a mansion built upon generations of unyielding pride. Its vast, cold marble floors gleamed with the kind of high-shine polish that smelled of power and discipline, not warmth or comfort. Ornate, gilded frames held portraits of stern, unsmiling ancestors who lined the long, echoing hallways, their painted eyes seeming to watch every movement, every hesitant step she took, like a panel of silent, perpetual judges presiding over an endless trial. Mina often felt their gaze physically upon her, a weight between her shoulder blades, weighing her simple presence and consistently finding her wanting.
She tried to make herself small, to move through the opulent spaces as quietly as a ghost, careful not to leave any traces of herself in this impersonal, intimidating environment. But no matter how softly she walked in her bare feet or how breathlessly she tried to exist, her mere presence in these hallowed halls seemed to echo like an offense, a discordant note in a perfectly composed symphony.
Hajiya Zainab noticed everything with the predatory focus of a hawk. She noticed the way Mina preferred to steal away to pray alone in a small, sunlit corner of an unused room instead of joining the extended family for prayers in the grand, showy parlor. She noticed the way Mina would sometimes slip outside onto a secluded balcony just to breathe air that wasn't filtered through layers of wealth and judgment, when the oppressive weight of the house became too suffocating to bear. She noticed the way Mina spoke, her voice always soft, always measured, as if she were perpetually afraid of intruding upon a conversation she was never meant to be a part of.
To Hajiya, these were not the humble habits of a respectful daughter-in-law. They were deliberate, subtle insults. A silent rebellion.
It began one morning at the interminably long breakfast table. The vast mahogany surface was covered with an extravagant spread of dishes-crispy akara, smooth pap, baskets of fresh bread, platters of perfectly fried eggs. Uniformed servants moved with brisk, silent efficiency, refilling cups and plates before they were even half-empty. Adam's younger siblings laughed and chattered loudly, their privileged voices bouncing effortlessly off the vaulted, high ceiling.
Mina sat quietly at Adam's side, her focus entirely on spooning soft pap into Trisha's eager mouth, her gaze carefully lowered to her daughter.
"Why don't you eat something?" Adam whispered to her, his voice low with concern, nudging her gently with his elbow.
"I'll eat later, after she's settled," she murmured back, not looking up.
Before he could formulate a reply, Hajiya Zainab's voice, cold and clear, cut through the lively table chatter like a sharpened blade.
"You don't eat with the family?"
All heads, as if pulled by a single string, turned toward Mina. The room grew instantly, uncomfortably still, the only sound the clink of a servant's spoon against a pot.
Mina looked up, startled, meeting her mother-in-law's icy stare. "I... I'm just feeding the baby first. I will eat."
The older woman's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "There is always an excuse with you. In this house, we sit together. We eat together. That is how proper families bond. But perhaps you believe you are too important to join us properly? That your ways are above our traditions?"
Mina's cheeks flushed with a heat of humiliation and shock. "No, Mama, I didn't mean that at all, I just-"
"Then you will eat," Hajiya said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument, her final word dropping like a stone onto the silent table.
Mina's hands trembled slightly as she set down Trisha's little spoon. She picked up a piece of bread from her own plate, forcing herself to take a small, tasteless bite under the heavy, judging weight of everyone's gaze. Adam shifted rigidly beside her, his jaw tightening into a hard line, but he said nothing, the tension in his shoulders a silent scream.
Later that same day, hoping to find some purpose and goodwill, Mina tried to help in the massive, industrial-sized kitchen. She tied her wrapper tightly around her waist, rolled up her sleeves, and began quietly washing a pile of fresh vegetables at the secondary sink. The hired housemaids exchanged awkward, nervous glances amongst themselves.
One of them, a young girl named Halima, finally approached and whispered nervously, "Madam Mina, please, leave it. Hajiya does not like... when outsiders touch things in her kitchen."
Mina froze, the cold water running over her motionless hands. "Outsiders?" The word, spoken aloud, cut far sharper and deeper than she ever could have expected.
"She will scold us-all of us-if she sees you working here," Halima murmured, her eyes darting fearfully toward the doorway. "It is better if you just... rest."
And indeed, as if summoned by the very transgression, moments later Hajiya appeared in the doorway, her footsteps sharp and authoritative against the polished tiles. She surveyed the scene with a single sweeping glance, her lips pressing into a thin, displeased line.
"Put that down," she snapped, the command cracking through the steamy air.
Mina set the kitchen knife aside immediately, wiping her hands on her wrapper and bowing her head slightly in a gesture of deference. "I was only trying to help lighten the load-"
"This is not your village kitchen," Hajiya interrupted, her voice cold enough to frost the air. "We have a full staff for this. Do you think you can impress me by pretending to be humble? To be one of them? Do not shame yourself by performing chores. And do not shame this family by acting beneath your station."
The other maids immediately lowered their eyes, suddenly intensely focused on their own tasks, pretending they had heard and seen nothing. Mina swallowed hard against the lump of humiliation that had formed in her tight throat. She wanted nothing more than to vanish into the very walls of this beautiful, hateful house.
(Adam's POV – That Night)
That night, Adam found Mina sitting on the edge of the narrow bed in the small, impersonal guestroom they had been given, mechanically rocking a sleeping Trisha in her arms while her vacant stare was fixed on the intricate patterns of the Persian rug on the floor. The air in the room was heavy and thick with all the words she had swallowed throughout the day.
He closed the door gently behind him and sat beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Tell me what happened today," he said softly, though he could already see the aftermath written in the weary slope of her shoulders.
Her lips pressed together, trembling slightly as she fought for control. Then, the dam broke. "She hates me, Adam. Truly, deeply hates me. Everything I do is wrong in her eyes. If I am quiet and keep to myself, she says I am proud and standoffish. If I try to help and be useful, she says I am pretending and being deceitful. I... I don't belong here. I will never belong here."
His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He took her free hand in both of his, squeezing it tightly, trying to impart some of his strength into her. "Mina, listen to me. You belong with me. You belong with Trisha. That is the only family that matters. That is the only opinion that counts."
Tears welled in her eyes, shimmering in the low light, but she did not let them fall. "But we live under her roof. We eat her food. We sleep in her beds. We depend on her charity for the very air we breathe. Don't you see? To her, I will always be the poor, uneducated girl who dragged her brilliant son down from his pedestal. I will always be the outsider who corrupted you."
Adam's jaw hardened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He had hoped, foolishly, that moving here would be a temporary refuge, a necessary place of safety and recovery after the devastation of the flood. But already the true cost was revealing itself-it was being paid in the slow dimming of Mina's bright spirit, in the cold, silent war being waged through glances and carefully chosen, cutting remarks.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from her damp cheek, his voice low and fervent. "I will not let her break you. Do you hear me? We will endure this for now, because we must, but this is not forever. I promise you, Mina, I will find us a way out. I will get us a place of our own again. No matter what I have to do. No matter what it takes."
Her eyes searched his, looking for the certainty, the unwavering resolve she so desperately needed to believe in. She nodded faintly, a tiny, fragile movement, though her shoulders still trembled under the weight of the day's indignities.
Adam pulled her into his arms, holding her and their daughter close, the immense weight of his vow settling heavily in his chest, a burden he welcomed.
Much later that night, long after the house had fallen into a deep, pretentious silence, Mina rose from the bed to fetch a glass of water. She padded silently down the long, dark corridor, past the open doorway of the main parlor, and froze mid-step.
Hajiya was seated there alone in the shadows, a single lamp casting a small pool of light around her. Her prayer beads slid slowly, deliberately through her fingers, one by one. Her eyes lifted from her devotions, sharp and unblinking, pinning Mina to the spot.
"Do you truly believe he will always be there to protect you?" she asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper, yet it carried with a chilling clarity. "You are mistaken. Men are weak. Their promises are written on water. Sons always, eventually, return to their mothers. And when that day comes for my Adams, you will find yourself with nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Mina's breath caught in her throat, sharp and painful. She clutched the edges of her wrapper tightly around her shoulders as if it were a shield, her pulse hammering wildly against her skin.
She wanted to answer, to defend herself, to shout her love for Adams into this woman's cold, implacable face. But no words would come. Her voice had deserted her. She could only turn away, her silence swallowed whole by the vast, dark corridor behind her.
But her heart knew one thing with a dreadful, sinking clarity-this house was not, and would never be, a refuge. It was a gilded battlefield, and the war had just been declared.