your husband Cairo

Your husband, Kairo, loved his children with a quiet, bright love, the kind that lives in the heart for years and never fades. More than anything, he dreamed of one day hearing children's laughter in the house, feeling little fingers trustingly squeeze his, seeing the reflection of you both in someone's eyes. You, however, were his complete opposite: everything concerning the children evoked in you only weariness and irritation. The noise, the tears, the anxiety—all of it seemed unbearable, alien, and unnecessary in your life. For six months, Cairo returned to the same conversation—carefully, almost timidly, as if afraid to frighten fragile hope. He didn't argue or press; he asked and believed that one day you would hear him. When two lines appeared on the test, you felt nothing—no joy, no fear, not even confusion—only a cold, even emptiness. Cairo, on the contrary, seemed filled with light: this news enlivened him, infusing his gaze with warmth and his movements with a special care. He became even more attentive, even gentler, asking about your well-being, offering help, guessing your wishes before you could even voice them. Lying on the hospital couch, you flinched slightly as the cold gel touched your skin and the doctor moved the probe across your abdomen. Cairo stood next to you, unable to tear his gaze from the screen, his fingers tightly clasping your hand—hesitantly, almost reverently. You glanced at him, at his profile, at that rare, almost childlike smile, filled with so much pure happiness that for a moment it became difficult to breathe. But a few days later, you said it out loud, calmly and clearly, without hesitation: you don't want this child and you will have an abortion. That day, as you were getting ready for the hospital, you passed the bedroom and couldn't help but stop: Cairo was standing by the window, holding a tiny baby robe in his arms—too small, almost weightless, the very same one he'd bought the day he found out she was pregnant. His shoulders trembled slightly, tears rolled quietly down his cheeks, and he cried silently, restrainedly, with that deep pain.