Three days earlier...
The question hits me like a slap, and I have to catch my breath before I find the voice to answer. "Hana, that's not—that's completely different—"
"And what makes it different, dear sister? Tell me what makes your situation different. Because from where I'm sitting, it looks exactly the same."
"Hana, please—" I start to plea, wanting her to stop, to end this conversation right here, right now. I don't want to hear condemnation from her.
But she doesn't stop, and spits venom that sears my heart.
"You knew he had a wife. You knew Victoria existed, that she loved him, that they had children together. And yet, you stayed. You played house with Damien while Victoria sat at home, waiting for her husband to return for dinner."
"You don't understand," I say, sounding weak and pathetic even to my own ears. "It's not that simple. I love him, and he loves me—"
"Love?" Hana laughs again, and there's no humor in it, just bitter, ugly pain. "You think what you have with him is love? Let me tell you what love is, Zahra. Love is what Victoria has. His public recognition of her as his wife. Love is what she received when she birthed his children and built a family for him. Honor. Dignity. Love is not sneaking around and playing hide and seek. It's being respected and protected, the way Victoria is."
Tears start streaming down my face, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand, but they keep coming. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being so cruel?"
"Because I raised you," her voice cracks. "When our mother died, I was only nineteen years old, but I took the role of your mother. I taught you how to dress, how to speak, how to carry yourself like a lady so you could have a better life than I did."
"I know. I know everything you did for me and I'm grateful—"
"But I failed you in the most important way." She's crying again now, harder than before. "I taught you how to be successful, but forgot to teach you the most important thing of all. I forgot to teach you about morals. I forgot to teach you that some things are wrong no matter how much you want them, that some lines should never be crossed."
"Hana, please—"
"I forgot to teach you that actions have consequences," she continues. "I forgot to teach you that when you destroy someone else's marriage, when you help a man betray his wife and children, the universe has a way of making you pay for it."
"Hana…what are you getting at?" I ask, not liking where this is going at all.
"I'm talking about karma, Zahra. I'm talking about the fact that because I failed to raise you right, because I didn't teach you that what you're doing is wrong, I'm now paying the price for your sins."
Oh, god… she blames me. She blames me for this.
The room starts spinning around me, and I have to close my eyes to make it stop. The last thing I expected to hear was my sister telling me she's paying for my sins. "That's not how it works. What's happening to you has nothing to do with me—"
"Doesn't it?" she snaps, resentful. "My husband is leaving me for another woman, exactly the way Damien betrayed Victoria for you. If this isn't karma, then what is it? If I didn't fail to teach you right, how did you become a homewrecker?"
"Stop," I beg her. "Please…just stop."
"You want to know what she looks like?" Hana doesn't stop. She continues her tirade in a quieter, more dangerous tone, sounding as if she lost her mind. "The woman Omar is leaving me for is young, just like you. She's beautiful and naive and probably thinks she's in love. She probably tells herself that what they have is special, that it's different from what he has with me, his wife."
"Hana—"
"She must also think I'm the villain in their love story," she continues, and I hear her moving around, probably pacing the way she does when she's upset. "The cold, bitter wife who doesn't understand him the way she does. The obstacle between them and their happiness."
"I never thought about Victoria that way," I whisper.
"Not even a little bit? Not even when Damien complained about her or told you she didn't understand him? Not even when he said he was only staying with her for the children and his business?"
I'm stumped, because there were those days, where after discovering the truth, I had wished for Victoria to disappear, blaming her for the situation I was in.
Damien didn't love her. But because of her refusal to divorce him, and their complicated business partnership, I ended up in a compromising position.
The feeling wasn't pleasant, and the truth shattering, filling me with bitterness and resentment.
However, upon returning to my senses, I realized my thoughts weren't right, the mere realization that I even had such a thought had sent a chill down my back, cutting off any further ill wishes.
"I used to be proud of you," Hana continues, and the words cut deeper than everything she's said thus far. "When you got that job at the architecture firm, when you started dating Damien, when you seemed so happy and successful, I thought I had achieved the purpose of my life, raising you into the remarkable woman you were meant to be."
"You did," I say desperately. "You did everything right. This isn't your fault—"
"But I failed to raise you with the right values," she continues. "I failed to install a moral compass in you. In the end, I ended up raising a self-centered individual who would take whatever she wanted, regardless of who got hurt in the process."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" Her laugh is sharp and bitter. "Is it fair that Victoria's children have to watch their family fall apart? Is it fair that she has to smile and pretend everything is okay while her husband spends his nights with another woman? Is it fair that I have to explain to my friends why my husband is suddenly filing for divorce?"
I'm crying harder now, ugly sobs that make it hard to breathe. "I didn't ask for any of this. You know I didn't know anything when we got married. I never wanted to hurt anyone."
"But you did hurt her, in the end, didn't you? Even after you found out he's married, even after learning about his children, you didn't leave," she sighs, sounding resigned, sad. "You hurt Victoria, you hurt her children, and now you've hurt me too. Because that's what sin does, Zahra. It spreads like poison, touching everyone it comes near."
"What do you want me to do?" I hate how small my voice sounds, how broken.
I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't mean to hurt anyone at all.
I just wanted to live with the person I loved, because as much as everyone else believed otherwise, I know he loves me.
He's just powerless. He can't make our relationship public for fear of the impact it would have on his business.
I thought we could make this work, though. Without hurting anyone, without hurting his business, I had believed we could make this relationship work as many have done in this past.
But now…
"I want you to do what you should have done two years ago when you found out he was married," Hana says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I want you to leave him. I want you to stop being the other woman and start being the person I tried to raise you to be."
"Hana…please…I love him...." I choke, feeling dizzy.
Though I want to question her, how she could ask me of this, how she could make me leave my husband despite knowing how much I love him…
I don't. Because I know.
From the second I saw that boy, I already knew I couldn't continue on this path anymore.
Whether there is love or not, whether I'm his wife or not. It doesn't matter anymore. Because Damien and I can't be together.
Not after seeing that boy.
"Then I'll keep paying for your sins." There's a finality in her voice that scares me. "And so will everyone around you. Because that's how karma works, little sister. It doesn't just punish the person who commits the sin. It punishes everyone who failed to stop them."
The line goes quiet, and for a moment I think she's hung up on me.
"Hana? Are you still there?"
"I'm here," she says, sounding distant and cold. "I just wanted you to know that whatever happiness you think you've found with Damien, it's built on other people's pain. And pain like that doesn't just disappear, Zahra. It comes back to find you, one way or another. And when that happens, I want you to remember this conversation. I want you to remember that you had a chance to make things right, but you chose yourself. Like always, you chose yourself."
The line goes dead, and I'm left sitting in the dark with my phone pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone, feeling hollow, numb, dead.