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A Stranger in My Bed novel
A Stranger in My Bed
2025, Zofia Kowalska
Korean Romance
Free
A trapped wife unravels her husband's cold indifference, questioning their hollow marriage while carrying his child. Between silent treatments and explosive confrontations, she demands answers from a man who treats her like a ghost in their home. As secrets linger beneath his 'work trips,' she battles between clinging to hope and breaking free. A raw story of love's absence, unseen chains, and a woman's crumbling patience.
Farah
A kind-hearted and emotional girl who struggles with feeling unloved.Ashor
The enigmatic husband, emotionally detached and secretive about his work, leaving his family in constant uncertainty.Haider
Their blind young son, caught in the crossfire of his parents’ fractured marriage.
You think you're escaping prison for freedom, But you find yourself trapped in another prison. "The Beginning" – Basra I’m sitting in the garden at dawn, light rain falling. I sigh and close my eyes, listening to the call to prayer. I try to soothe my soul with the sweetest words— Words that come from a righteous person, reminding us That we follow the religion of Muhammad, That we must pray and remember God. Because we need God so much. No matter how much of our lives we waste neglecting prayer, No one will lose except us. I go to the sink, perform ablution, Spread out my prayer mat, and start praying, Asking God to ease my heart. I finish and return to the room—like every day— No one’s here but me and my beloved son, Haider. I smile, leaving his hand on his cheek as he sleeps, Just like his father used to sleep. Standing in front of the mirror, my eyes drop to my belly. I let my hands touch the son inside me, Whispering softly with my hand on my stomach: "Your father broke my heart, but don’t worry… I’ll be both mother and father to you, like I am for your brother." I lie down next to Haider, hug him, and fall asleep. I wake up to Aunt Lamee’a’s voice: "Get up, sweetheart, the noon call to prayer is sounding!" I sit up, adjusting myself, trying to process. I rub my eyes and mumble: "Good morning." She smiles. Lamee’a: "Morning light! Come on, wake up, enough laziness. Haider’s dad is coming today." I laugh sarcastically, pointing at myself: "He’s coming to me? Don’t make me laugh. He doesn’t care." Lamee’a: "Enough of that talk. Get up, pray, put on something nice, and wear some kohl. Let him lose his mind over you. And don’t worry about Haider—I’ll put him down for his nap." I go into the bathroom, laughing at her words. I brush my teeth, wash my face, Perform ablution, and pray. I get dressed in simple track pants, tie my hair in a ponytail, And don’t put on any makeup. The second she sees me, she slaps her cheek in disbelief. Lamee’a: "Wow! This is how a woman looks when she hasn’t seen her husband in six months?!" Me: "What’s he gonna do when he comes back? Wait for me to raise our son, send him to college, let him get married and have kids? Why’s he in such a hurry?" Lamee’a: "Girl, your face is so pretty even without makeup—it’s like warm bread." Me: "He doesn’t deserve to see me beautiful." I notice Haider sitting in his chair, eating. I sit next to him, kissing his cheek. "How’s Mommy’s love doing?" He laughs happily when he hears my voice, Reaching out his little hands to grab mine. When I hold them, he kisses them. Haider: "Mama!" Me: "My love, does Mama need to do anything for you?" Haider: "No, Lamee’a’s food is yummy!" Lamee’a responds: "Better than your mom’s scrambled eggs!" Me: "What’s this, Auntie? Haha, let’s eat." Lamee’a: "What’s wrong? You’re pregnant again, and you’re still eating with him?" Me: "Ugh, I don’t want anymore. I’m full." She pours tea, and we sit eating and chatting. Then the door opens, and he walks in. The second I hear his footsteps, My heart races, ready to leap out of my chest. Why do I love him? Why, I swear, he doesn’t deserve me. She motioned to me with her eyes—get up. I sighed in frustration, sat up, And held my composure. As usual, he was dressed in black—this darkness suits him. Silent, but his eyes linger on Haider, who hasn’t noticed him yet. I moved closer, hugged him, rested my head on his chest, my hand on his back. He didn’t return the hug—just stood there, completely still. I pulled away and said: "I missed you so much, habibi." He locked eyes with me, silent. God, he looks just like him. I tried again: "How are you?" He answered while stepping back, heading toward Lamee’a: "Fine." He hugged her, greeting her warmly, chatting like nothing was wrong. She clung to him, crying. Lamee’a: "My son, my dear nephew, why do you break our hearts like this? Staying away so long..." He kissed her head. "Work, Auntie. Just work." The second Haider heard his father’s voice, he screamed with excitement, jumping with joy: "Baba! Baba!" His father barely glanced at him—didn’t even move closer. My blood boiled inside. This coldness… it exhausts me. And I still love him. I grabbed Haider’s hand to take him to the room. His father cut me off: "Farah, where are you going?" I snapped: "You’re not wanted here. Why should we stay?" Lamee’a shot me a look, biting her finger in warning. Then he swooped in, taking Haider from me, lowering himself to his level. "How’s my little man?" Haider reached up, touching his face. "I love you. Why do you leave us? Mama cries for you when we sleep..." My eyes widened—my son just exposed me. I lied quickly: "Liar! I cry because of pregnancy hormones, not because of you!" He ignored me, leaned in, and kissed Haider’s forehead. I exhaled, thinking bitterly: How blind can he be? He doesn’t even see his own father’s reflection in him—the same man who ruined me. I left them, went to the room, and pulled out fresh clothes for him to change into. A little later, he walked in alone. Took the clothes, went to the bathroom. I let my hair down, letting it spill over my shoulders. I glanced at my makeup, wishing I could fix myself up—just so he’d struggle, just so he’d notice me. I want him to say something sweet to me… but where? Oh, the misery. He came out of the bathroom, towel-dried his hair, and sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Farah: "You want to eat?" He shook his head—no. He turned off the light and slept. As if he’s the only one in the room. As if I’m invisible. Tears fell at our situation. I looked out the window— Like every day, the guards surrounded the door. I put my hand on my chest, trying to calm myself down. The lump in my throat was suffocating me. I’m not like other girls. I don’t waste my time chasing after him. I escaped one prison only to be trapped in his. I looked at him lying on his back, his arm draped over his eyes. I lay down beside him, turning my back to him. Days passed—same routine. Barely any words between us. A miracle if we even finished a full sentence. He’d spend the whole day outside, come home late at night, and sleep. And so it went. I was done with this. Since today was our anniversary, I decided to use it—surprise him, make us stay up together. I got everything ready—the room, the cake. All dark cocoa, just how he likes it. I put on a short red dress that hugged my curves. It would’ve looked better if I wasn’t pregnant. I left my hair natural, loose, just a touch of red lipstick and heavy kohl to make my eyes pop. Then I waited. And waited. Kept checking the clock. 2:30 AM—still nothing. He finally showed up at fajr prayer time! Fed up, I told myself, Forget it, I’m sleeping. But then the door opened. He walked in, took in the room, shut the door behind him—no greeting, no words. Pulled off his shirt, left in just his pants. I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore—I exploded. I pointed at him, my voice shaking. "I exist, you know! Look at me! I’m tired of you—how long are you gonna keep this up? I swear, you’ve worn me out. Do you even remember I’m your wife? The mother of your child?" He just stared at me, calm, silent. My heart pounded. Farah: "Why do you treat me like this? Five years—FIVE YEARS—I’ve been yours, and not once have you said a kind word to me. Not once have you treated me like a wife should be treated. We’re strangers sharing a room! Five years, and we’ve never gone out together, never acted like a married couple, never once have you made me feel like I’m your wife!" He cut me off. "Go to sleep, Farah." I screamed. "I’M NOT SLEEPING! I’M DONE! Your life is just traveling, leaving us alone with your aunt, and then—if God ‘guides’ you—you come back for a week or two before disappearing again, using ‘work’ as an excuse. WHAT WORK, ASHOOR?! WHAT WORK?! I’m losing my mind! You don’t even claim your marital rights except once a year!" He interrupted again. "I get it. What do you want?" I thought he finally understood. "What do you mean, ‘get it’?!" "You want your rights." I froze. That’s all he got from everything I just said?! Farah: "Out of everything I poured out, THAT’S what you understood?!" He nodded. "You didn’t ask for anything else." I slumped onto the couch, covering my face, crying—frustrated, exhausted. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get me at all. Ashor: "Enough, Farah. Your hormones are all over the place. Just sleep." I pointed at my stomach. "I’m six months pregnant! I’m about to give birth, and you’re still ice-cold, leaving me to suffer through my pregnancy alone! Your son—BLIND, needing constant care—and you can’t even bother to ask how I am?!" He leaned against the wall, pulled out a cigarette—his father’s old habit—lit it, and just listened. Calm. Like always. I wiped my tears and said: "Ashor." Look at me when I'm talking to you. I paused, then asked: "What do you do for work?" Ashor: "Not your business. That question's off limits." Farah: "But I'm your wife—I have a right to know." Ashor: "Doesn't concern you." Farah: "You're doing something haram, aren't you? Why won't you tell me?" He shot me a sharp look and I shut up. Nobody gets to ask him about this stuff—he made that clear from our wedding night. Too damn nosy. I moved closer, resting my head on his chest. For the first time ever, he actually hugged me back. I smiled against him. "Do you love me?" Silence. Just the pounding of his heart, loud in my ear. Farah: "Just tell me. Even if you hate me—just say it. I need to know what I mean to you." He took a drag of his cigarette. "You're in this house because...?" Farah: "I'm your wife." Ashor: "And Haider?" Farah: "Our son." Ashor: "The one in your stomach?" Farah: "Also yours. Also mine." Ashor: "Then stop asking stupid questions." I exhaled, stubborn. "I just want to hear you say it." Ashor: "Say what?" Farah: "That you love me." He pulled away. "Go to sleep. Staying up late isn't good for you." I knew that tone—conversation over. I stared him down. "Is there someone else?" His eyebrows shot up. Ashor: "Farah, enough. You're delirious." I shook my head. Farah: "It's fine if there is. You're a put-together man—successful,不缺 anything. Of course you'd have someone you visit when you travel—" A beat. Then I pushed harder. "Did you marry her too? Is that why you're always leaving me?" He walked away, lying down with his back to me—ignoring me like always. But I wasn't done. Farah: "If you love her, why did you marry me?" His voice came cold, detached: "Auntie trapped me with you." Bullet to the chest. Tears fell in streams. I choked out: "So... you never loved me?" Ashor: "I don't love anyone, Farah." My eyes landed on the anniversary cake. Pathetic. I'd humiliated myself, begging for scraps from a man who doesn't even see me. Farah: "Divorce me, Ashor." Eyes still closed, he answered: "Fine. Take whatever you want in the settlement." I turned away, hugging my knees. Cursing myself between sobs. "I trapped myself with you. Wasted my years." His voice, icy, made my heart cramp worse: "You'll get them back." Farah: "Then why trap me with kids?" Ashor: "You were on birth control. Your stubbornness got you pregnant." Farah: "Aunt Lamee'a said—'Have his baby, he'll love you more.'" A bitter laugh escaped me. "And stupid me believed it. Like some desperate—" Silence stretched between us. Then he shattered it: Ashor: "Leaving for China in two days." I closed my eyes. What did I expect? Farah: "Safe travels, stranger who fathered my child." I finally fell asleep after struggling, lying there ignorant about everything concerning the man sharing my bed. Who is he? What does he do? My husband. The father of my children. Yet a stranger— I know nothing but his name... To be continued...
