Before the mother could fully recover, she cast a sorrowful glance at her newborn and bid her a silent farewell. With a heavy heart, she turned away, leaving her baby’s cries to echo through the sterile walls of the hospital.
The child, later named Mariam, cried for days on end, abandoned before she could even understand the world around her. A compassionate nurse, moved by the infant’s plight, could not bear to leave her defenseless. She took Mariam in as her own, raising her with love and care.
For ten years, Mariam believed she belonged—until the nurse, battling cancer, lay on her deathbed and revealed the painful truth: she was not Mariam’s biological mother. In that moment, Mariam’s fragile sense of identity crumbled. She was a child with no roots, no past to call her own.
Out of pity, a neighbor took her into his home, welcoming her among his daughters. But his wife saw Mariam as an unwelcome burden. Resentment festered until, one day, in a fit of rage, she delivered a cruel ultimatum: "It’s either me or that illegitimate child!"
Mariam froze. The words sliced through her like a blade. She had been unwanted before she could even walk, and now, she was unwanted still. That night, she wept until her small body ached, until her sobs gave way to silence.
At dawn, with nowhere left to turn, she wandered the streets. A group of girls traveling to Sana’a in search of work found her and offered to take her along. Hope flickered within her. Maybe, this time, she would belong.
But hope is a fragile thing. When they reached the city, the girls left her behind at the transport station, disappearing into their new lives as if she had never existed.
Alone in a city of strangers, Mariam wandered aimlessly, exhaustion pulling at her small frame. She drifted from alley to alley until sheer weakness overcame her. Collapsing at a doorstep, she slipped into a diabetic coma. The night wind carried dust onto her fragile face as she lay motionless, the world indifferent to her suffering. A child so young, consumed by a diabetic coma, was now at the mercy of the streets.
A good Samaritan found her and took her to a hospital, where she remained for days, lost in the haze of illness and despair. With nowhere to go, her stay was prolonged, and in time, she befriended another patient. For the first time in a long while, warmth touched her life.
"I’ll ask my mother if you can live with us," the girl promised.
Mariam clung to those words. A home. A family. A place where she would finally be wanted But when her friend’s mother learned of Mariam’s past, her reply was cold and final: "I will never allow an illegitimate child into my home."
The words shattered Mariam. A crime she had never committed—one she could never even understand—was stamped upon her like a curse, barring her from love, from belonging, from simply being.
Tears streamed down her face as rage and sorrow consumed her. She ran down the hospital corridors, hurling herself against the walls, as if trying to break free from the pain that imprisoned her. A security officer, moved by pity, took her to a charitable organization, where her tragic story was shared in a magazine. Many offered to take her in, but only the most capable was chosen to be her guardian. She was placed with a foster family, a new chance at life.
But years of rejection had shaped her. She had never known the structure of a stable home, the rules of respect, the warmth of discipline. She fought against everything—against order, against expectations, against love itself. Even her own survival became a battle of defiance. She ignored her diabetes and indulged in sweets.
She ate one last piece of candy. A deadly surge of sugar coursed through her body, her ears began to bleed, and her eyes widened in a haunting, unblinking stare.
By the time the doctors planned to release her from intensive care, Mariam had already made her choice. She would not delay the inevitable.
Mariam left this world, her departure silent yet profound.
In her final journey, Mariam moved through the crowd as if in a final procession, clutching two invisible certificates. One told the story of an innocence stolen. The other—the cruel legacy of a world that had failed her, a world corrupted by greed, pride, and cruelty