Her eyes were filled with worry, not just about the unfinished work, but about her baby boy as well. She gathered the files and dived into the analysis. Minutes slipped into hours, and the evening slowly gave way to night. Somehow, Sara managed to finish half of the files.
She glanced at the clock, 7:30. Her heart skipped. Oh no… Zayn is still at the daycare.
Looking around, she realized her colleagues had already left. Her gaze drifted toward the director's office, then she sighed. She couldn't ignore her baby any longer.
Hurriedly, she made her way to the daycare. Almost every child had gone home, except Zayn, who sat near the entrance, eyes scanning for her.
The moment he saw her, he ran straight into her arms.
"Momma… why are you late? I was scared," he said, his tiny voice trembling and tears brimming in his eyes.
Sara's heart clenched. She hugged him tight, guilt and sorrow washing over her. "I'm so sorry, my love. Momma's here now, it's okay."
"Momma was busy with work today. I had a little more to finish, and it has to be done by tomorrow," she explained gently.
Zayn looked at her with a pout. Sara smiled and kissed it away. "I'm sorry, my love. Momma's here now. You'll be with me, come, let's work together."
He didn't look entirely convinced but spread his tiny arms, silently asking to be lifted. Sara laughed softly and scooped him into her arms, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
"Did my Zayn eat?" she asked.
He nodded, hugging her tightly. "Milk and bread," he whispered.
She covered him properly, gathered his things, and hurried toward her workstation. Settling into her chair, Zayn clung to her neck, already feeling the comfort of her arms. The long day and the warm embrace soon lulled him to sleep, his tiny hands gripping her gently.
Sara adjusted his baby jacket so he could rest safely and comfortably while she continued working. Time flew, and by almost 9 p.m., she was nearing the end of the massive task.
Kairo appeared in the doorway, frozen at the sight.
Watching her. Sara was still at her desk, her baby sleeping on her shoulder, tiny arms wrapped around her neck, utterly dependent on her. She looked exhausted, yet she didn't give up, managing both work and motherhood with quiet determination. A yawn escaped her lips, but her focus never wavered. She adjusted her glasses from time to time, completely absorbed in the documents before her.
His stomach twisted at the sight. She was a mother now, but to someone else's child. Jealousy surged through him, raw and unwelcome.
Why couldn't it be his? Why wasn't she the mother of his child? He hated the idea of her little boy belonging to another, a product of a life he wasn't part of.
His hands clenched into tight fists. Even in the midst of such chaos, she looked perfect, radiant with a strength he couldn't ignore. She had someone else in her life, but not him. He couldn't take her happiness with someone else, her domestic peace.
He watched as she gently patted the baby's back when he stirred, kissed his cheeks with tender affection, and handled him with such care. Every gesture twisted the knife in his chest.
Finally, she finished her work, carefully packing her things without waking her little boy. She headed out, leaving Kairo standing there, his eyes burning, his stomach twisting, and his chest aching. He didn't know why he felt this way, but the ache was real, impossible to ignore.
Soon, it had become a pattern. Days turned into weeks, and what had once seemed like a manageable challenge for Sara began to feel suffocating. Kairo's assignments, initially urgent but reasonable, slowly morphed into relentless, last-minute demands.
Every evening, she stayed long after her colleagues had gone, her baby boy Zayn dozing uncomfortably on her lap, tiny arms clinging to her neck as if he could feel her exhaustion. She juggled spreadsheets and deadlines while soothing him, each tick of the clock a reminder of how much she had to endure.
Some nights, Zayn would stir, mumbling in his sleep, and Sara would gently pat his back, her own eyelids heavy with fatigue. Yet she refused to let him sense her struggle. Her body ached, her mind spun, but she pushed herself because Zayn was everything.
And Kairo? He watched. Always. From his office, his sharp eyes tracked her every move: from the moment she logged in to the exhausted way she dragged herself out of the office with her child.
At first, Sara believed the constant stream of work was coincidental, that the assignments were genuinely urgent. But slowly, a pattern emerged. Some tasks were meaningless, redundant, clearly designed to consume her time, to keep her tied to the office long after her energy had drained.
A month had passed, and the pattern hadn't changed. Slowly, Sara realized the truth: Kairo was doing this on purpose. She was nothing more than a target for his relentless demands. The way he had explicitly instructed his secretary to assign tasks to her, the way she alone was burdened with last-minute work while other employees left on time, it all became painfully clear.
She had tried questioning his secretary, only to be met with evasive replies:
"Boss asked me to do it."
Her heart sank, heavy with frustration and disbelief, but alongside it, a fire ignited within her, a determination that she would not let herself be crushed.
One night, the office was silent, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound. Zayn slept on her lap, and Sara stared blankly at the screen, exhaustion weighing her down, her eyes heavy, her back aching, her legs trembling, her head throbbing, but beneath it all, a fire burned. Injustice seared through her veins; she was furious at being assigned yet another meaningless task. And it was already 10 p.m.
She glanced down at her baby boy, sleeping uncomfortably against her; her eyes burned, then she looked up toward Kairo's cabin. Anger twisted in her chest, her blood boiling.
Closing the file she had been working on, she took a deep, steadying breath and barged into his cabin.
"Why are you doing this, Kairo?"