When she told me years ago that she not planning to have children, I believed her. She spoke with certainty, with a kind of strength that said she knew what she wanted from life. And I admired that. But life has a way of humbling us by showing us the corners of our hearts we never thought existed.
When she lost her pregnancy, I saw a side of her I never imagined, fragile, quiet, and deeply human. It wasn’t just the loss of a child she never planned for. It was the loss of a piece of herself she didn’t know she could love.
Her grief taught me something profound: that beneath our choices and words, every woman carries a quiet thread of tenderness of longingness to nurture, to belong, to create life, in whatever form it comes.
I feel so deeply sorry for her loss. No words can ever truly ease the emptiness she feels, but I wish she knows she’s not alone and that her pain is seen, and her tears are understood. I pray that one day, she will hold her rainbow baby in her arms, a sign of Allah’s mercy after the storm.
I wish her nothing but goodness hope that her heart finds peace, that her faith grows stronger, and that joy returns to her life in ways she never expects. Because I believe Allah tests those He loves, and within every trial, there is hidden love, wisdom, and mercy.
Her grief humbled me. It reminded me that no matter how different we think we are, somewhere deep down, we all wish for love, for family, and for a place to belong, in our own beautiful way.
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