Malama Majeederh was physically present in the car, but her mind and composure had completely abandoned her. Abbu's words kept echoing in her ears. Latifa was relentless, even attempting to reassure Aku. "Come and marry my husband, Majeederh. We will live peacefully together. I’m tired of seeing you single. It hurts my heart to see you like this."

In her mind, Majeederh questioned Latifa's sanity. She turned the corner with the car and pulled into the parking lot of Aminu Kano Hospital. 

"Yes, Malama Majeederh Abdul'aziz Khan," Latifa continued driving while saying, "Sweetheart agrees to marry you. This will strengthen our bond. I will never consider you a rival; please accept, please, Jeederh."

"You and your husband need to see a psychiatrist," Malama Majeederh responded calmly. Latifa just laughed and shook her head, determined to force Jeederh to marry her husband. She parked the car and got out, holding the car keys and her phone. When she saw Majeederh hadn’t exited the car, she walked around to find out what was happening. Majeederh opened the car door and slowly stepped out, revealing her swollen, pale leg. Latifa's demeanor changed instantly upon noticing the extent of the swelling, which was so severe it would surprise anyone. With difficulty, Majeederh managed to get out of the car, silently invoking Allah's name.

"It looks like you have diabetes. This swelling is serious, Majeederh. Has Mami seen it? Has Abbu seen it?" Latifa asked, bombarding her with questions that went unanswered as Majeederh headed towards her appointment.

Dr. Jamal, knowing about her arrival since he scheduled her appointment, instructed her to come in when she called him. Latifa stood up to follow her into the office, but Majeederh stopped her, saying, "I need privacy."

"Take your time," Latifa replied, waving her hand.

Majeederh wore a brown abaya that complemented her complexion, paired with a long hijab that reached her feet. Her hands were gloved, her face veiled with a niqab, and her eyes hidden behind glasses. Only her eyes and feet were visible, the latter covered by her hijab. Malama Majeederh Abdul'aziz Khan, a thirty-five-year-old virgin, was a devout Islamic scholar with an equally strong academic background.

She found Dr. Jamal sitting and greeted him warmly. He pulled out a large file and placed it in front of her, holding up an X-ray as he said, "Finally, after two years, we’ve identified the issue."

She quietly exhaled in relief, praising God. She looked at him, eager to know what the diagnosis was. Dr. Jamal continued, "We've had a hard time, and we're still facing challenges, but every challenge we face is on your behalf."

With her eyes downcast and her hands folded across her chest, her heart pounded, though outwardly she seemed composed. One look at her, and it was clear she was unwell. "You have a growth inside you, causing the swelling and being misinterpreted by others. It’s grown so much that we need to perform surgery to remove it. In some cases, you might think the person is nine months pregnant."

"When will the surgery be?" she asked softly, only she knew the pain she endured, unable to sleep, her body ravaged by the pain. She longed to be free from it.

"Wednesday, God willing. Come tomorrow evening prepared for the surgery," he replied.

She was silent, feeling the weight of the world’s burdens. It felt as though she wanted to take a knife and pierce her heart. The heat of the sun burned, and the shade offered no comfort. Home brought no solace, nor did the outside world. Her family offered no reprieve. The father who brought her into this world had condemned her to this fate. She could not believe a father would curse his daughter out of the desires of his heart, but in her case, she believed it. She lived with her father's curse marked on her, a stigma known to none. 

"Malama Majeederh Abdul'aziz Khan!" Dr. Jamal called her name. She stood, clutching her chest as she often did, and after a moment said, "Thank you, Dr. Jamal."

"You're welcome. May God grant you health," he replied.