The Woman Who Was Almost Me

The final days of my pregnancy were starting to feel like a blur. Everything seemed to move slowly, yet so much was happening all at once. The weight of the situation, both physical and emotional, was becoming more overwhelming as I neared the finish line.

Kaveh was by my side, more present than ever, but I could still sense some distance. Maybe it was the tension that had been building between us, or maybe it was the pressure of the impending new chapter in our lives. Regardless, I could feel that this was a time of transition for both of us.

As for Aamz and Marya, to be honest, I had a kind of allergy toward thinking about them. Their relationship was something I had no desire to dive into, and yet I couldn't avoid it. There was an undeniable tension when I thought of how things had unfolded. I couldn't help but feel unsettled, as if they were somehow a reminder of all the unresolved parts of the past that still clung to my mind.

I also couldn't help but think of Laleh, always the picture of progress and forward motion. She was like a force of nature—constantly evolving, always pushing boundaries. I found it both inspiring and exhausting to be around her at times, but it was clear she was always working toward something bigger, and I admired that in her.

Meanwhile, my father and mother were finding a sense of calm. My father, despite everything, seemed to be finding his way through the quiet years of his retirement. My mother, too, seemed to be adapting to a life without the chaos of past years. There was a peace settling in for them, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like they were content with the direction their lives were taking.

But as my due date loomed closer, I felt like everything in my world—good, bad, and complicated—was converging into this moment, waiting for me to make sense of it all. The future was coming, and for the first time, I wasn't sure exactly where it would lead me.

In a very happy day, my daughter was born. The moment she entered the world, it felt like everything had changed. The exhaustion, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it melted away as I held her for the first time. She was perfect, and in that instant, it felt like all the pain, all the struggles, had been worth it.

In the days that followed, some short but good days bloomed. I was surrounded by the love of Kaveh, my family, and even the quiet joy of new motherhood. Life was different now, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace. My daughter's tiny hands grasped onto mine, and I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something better.

But, of course, life is never as simple as it seems. Though these days were full of joy, there were still traces of unresolved tension and thoughts I couldn't quite escape. Aamz, Marya, and everything in between—they lingered at the edges of my mind, even as I tried to focus on my new role as a mother. The world around me had changed, but there was still a part of me caught in the past, trying to make sense of everything that had come before.

Yet, in those quiet moments with my daughter, I realized that perhaps it didn't matter as much anymore. Perhaps, for the first time, I could finally focus on the future—on building a life for us, filled with the love and peace I had always wanted.

My daughter, Hanie, was everything to us. Literally everything! She became the center of my world, filling every moment with a sense of purpose I had never felt before. It was as if the past had faded into a distant haze—everything that had happened, all the pain, all the struggles, no longer held the same weight. I had always been someone who stood in the background, watching, supporting, and being shaped by the people around me. But now, I was different. Motherhood transformed me, guiding me in ways I never expected, setting the course for the rest of my life.

Days and nights blended together in a rhythm of sleeplessness and joy. Every little sound she made, every tiny movement, became the most important thing in the world. Kaveh and I found ourselves lost in this new universe, where nothing mattered more than her well-being. My parents, especially my mother, found new energy in her presence, as if Hanie had brought light back into all of our lives. Even Laleh, who was always on her own progressive path, softened when she held Hanie, as if my daughter had a quiet magic that touched everyone around her.

And in those days, I truly thought—I had finally found where I belonged.

It wasn't even interesting for me to hear news about the people from my past. While I still called my parents from time to time, I avoided any topic related to others. The past felt like a different life, a place I no longer belonged to or cared to revisit. My world was here and now, with Kaveh, with Hanie, and with the peaceful, steady life we had built.

New friends had entered our lives, filling the space that once belonged to old names and memories. Among them were Gabriel and Anna, a couple who quickly became close to us. They shared our interests, our way of thinking, and more importantly, they were part of this new chapter—one that had nothing to do with the past.

With them, conversations were light and refreshing, free from old wounds and complicated histories. We talked about art, philosophy, the little joys of daily life. It was simple. It was enough. And for the first time in a long time, I felt that maybe—just maybe—life had finally settled into something steady and safe.

One day, Negin, the daughter of my sister Darya, called me, her voice heavy with sadness. She told me that her parents were about to divorce.

It wasn't surprising. Darya, like Dina, carried childhood wounds that shaped her way of living. Just like Dina, she was always looking for ways to pull life out of the ordinary, to create something intense, something dramatic. But how much tolerance can a man have for that? How long before it becomes too much?

I listened as Negin spoke, her words filled with confusion and pain. She didn't understand why her family was falling apart. I wanted to comfort her, but what could I say? That it was inevitable? That some people are simply drawn to chaos, no matter how much love is given to them?

I sighed, glancing at Hanie, who was playing nearby, innocent and untouched by such complications. I wanted to keep her far from these things, from these patterns that seemed to repeat in my family.

Still, I knew I couldn't ignore Negin's pain. No matter how much I had distanced myself from the past, she was family. And family, no matter how flawed, always had a way of pulling you back in.

I decided not to get involved in Darya's life. I had spent too much time tangled in other people's problems, and I wanted to do things for my own life now. I wanted to focus on my family, on Hanie, on the new chapter I was building far from the shadows of the past.

So, I tried to get more intimate with new friends. It started with Gabriel and Anna, who were always full of energy and ideas. Through them, we met more people, and soon, our social circle was buzzing with life.

That was the start of high-frequency parties. It felt like a rebirth—a way to redefine myself away from all the tragedies I had witnessed. Our house was often filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. Hanie would fall asleep to the muffled sounds of our gatherings, her dreams untouched by the complexities swirling around.

At first, it felt good. It was liberating to dance, to laugh, to feel light after carrying so much weight for so long. I was rediscovering joy, learning to let go.

But there were moments, brief and sharp, when I'd catch myself looking around the room, feeling a hollowness I couldn't name. It was as if I was trying to drown out ghosts with noise and laughter. I'd shake it off, pour another drink, and return to the fun.

After all, this was about moving on, wasn't it? And I was determined to keep moving, no matter what I had to leave behind.

Anna was Kaveh's work partner in a small IT company. They were a good team—efficient and always bouncing ideas off each other. Gabriel, her husband, was ... well, charming but without much direction. He was friendly and easygoing, but he didn't seem to have a steady job or purpose.

One day at the gym, Gabriel was there too. Like always, he was helping me with my exercises, spotting me when needed. But this time, I noticed he was standing a bit too close, his hands lingering longer than necessary. I pulled back and gave him a pointed look. He immediately apologized, his face flushing with embarrassment.

After the workout, he approached me in the parking lot, his shoulders hunched. "I feel terrible about earlier. Can I make it up to you? Maybe grab a bite at that new restaurant?"

I hesitated but then agreed. Maybe he just wanted to clear the air.

Over dinner, he seemed distracted, fidgeting with his napkin. Then he said, "You know, there's something ... vengeful in me. That's why I acted like that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Revenge? For what?"

Then he looked away, his jaw tightening.

He said, "I felt some ... chemistry between Kaveh and Anna."

I blinked, caught off guard. "No way! They're just close coworkers. They spend a lot of time together, that's all."

He shook his head slowly. "I think it's more than that."

I crossed my arms. "What makes you say that?"

He looked down, hesitating before he continued, "There was this time at our place ... Anna was leaning on Kaveh's leg. It didn't look like just friendship."

I scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "That's not uncommon. We're all close friends. It's no different than how you and I hang out."

Gabriel's eyes met mine, a hint of frustration in his gaze. "Maybe ... but I know her. There was something different in the way she looked at him."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck. A faint unease crept in, but I pushed it down. "You're just being paranoid," I said, forcing a casual laugh. "They're just work partners who get along well. That's it."

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "I hope you're right."

An uncomfortable silence settled between us, the restaurant's hum of conversation and clinking silverware suddenly too loud.

Gabriel's words planted a seed of doubt. I found myself watching every interaction between Kaveh and Anna, scrutinizing every glance, every laugh they shared. At times, their closeness seemed just a bit too familiar, but there was nothing concrete—no undeniable sign of betrayal.

I tried to shake it off, telling myself I was being paranoid, letting Gabriel's jealousy mess with my head. Kaveh had always been honest with me, and Anna was my friend, too. I had no reason not to trust them.

But the unease lingered, stubbornly clinging to my thoughts. I forced myself to think positively, to focus on the good. We were all close friends; that was all there was to it ... right?

And yet, every smile they shared seemed to chip away at my resolve.

I tried to bury my doubts, to silence the whispers Gabriel had stirred. Life continued as usual—dinners, gatherings, laughter echoing through our shared moments. But beneath the surface, a quiet tension grew.

I watched, I waited, pretending everything was normal, even as suspicion gnawed at me.

I wanted to believe it was all in my head, that our friendships were untouched by betrayal. But once trust is shaken, it's never the same again.