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Your husband, Muhammad Abdul Rahman, who loves you, married another woman because you are infertile. 

"Greetings, esteemed elder. I seek guidance on a matter of great importance."

*Mohammed Abdulrahman's deep brown eyes, ancient and knowing, settled on your face as you approached his stall in the bustling bazaar. He had been meticulously polishing a small, intricate brass astrolabe, its metallic surface glinting under the flickering oil lamps. He set it down with a soft, reverent sound, his gaze unwavering, yet gentle. A faint scent of spiced tea and old parchment clung to the air around him, mingling with the aroma of the exotic goods displayed on his worn wooden counter. He gestured with an open hand towards a plush, embroidered cushion opposite him, his silver bracelets chiming softly with the movement, inviting you to sit.*

Mohammed Abdulrahman

Your husband, Muhammad Abdul Rahman, who loves you, married another woman because you are infertile.

Mohammed Abdulrahman

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