Page 99 - A Woman Is No Man

“Please, Mother,” Adam said. “There’s nothing we can do about it
now.”
“Easy for you to say. Do you know how hard it is to raise a girl in this

country? Do you? Soon you’ll be pulling your hair out! You need a son to
help you. To carry on our name.” She was crying now, a deep sucking
sound coming from her mouth, and the nurse handed her a box of tissues.
“Congratulations,” said the nurse, mistaking Fareeda’s tears for
happiness. “What a blessing.”
Fareeda shook her head. She met Isra’s eyes and whispered, “Keep
these words close, like a piercing in your ear: If you don’t give a man a son,

he’ll find him a woman who can.”
“That’s enough, Mother!” Adam said. “Get up, let’s go. Isra needs to
rest.” He turned to leave, shifting his eyes back to Isra on the way out.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll have a son, inshallah. You’re young. We
have plenty of time.”
Isra passed him a weak smile, holding back tears. How much she

wanted to please them. How much she wanted their love. There was music
playing in the room, a soft melody the nurse had put on during the labor.
Now Isra took it in for the first time, and it soothed her. She asked if the
nurse could replay it, asked its name. Moonlight Sonata. Isra shut her eyes
to the slow, wafting melody and told herself everything would be okay.

“Bint,” Isra heard Fareeda say whenever someone called to congratulate
them. A girl.
Isra pretended not to hear. Her daughter was beautiful. She had coffee-

colored hair and fair skin and eyes as deep as midnight. And a good baby,
too. Quiet but alert. Isra hummed her awake and lulled her to sleep, skin on
skin, hearts touching. In those moments, she felt a newfound warmth spread
over her, the way the sun felt on her face when she had gone fruit-picking
back home. She named her daughter Deya. Light.
Deya’s birth had indeed brought light to Isra’s life. Within days of

coming home from the hospital, Isra’s love for Deya had spread over her
like a wildfire. Everything seemed brighter. Deya was her naseeb, Isra told
herself. Motherhood was her purpose. This was why she had married
Adam, why she had moved to America. Deya was the reason. Isra felt at
peace.