Despite Hind's desperate attempts, it has become impossible for her to kill her son. She did try, again and again, attempt after attempt, but all she met was disappointment. She didn't want to kill her son deliberately, no, that was too cruel, though there were times when she was tempted to plunge a dagger inside the bright glowing chest of his, to throw him from the terrace for him to die instantly. But it felt too much, food had become a luxury for her with the growing needs of the child, it had become almost impossible to make ends meet, which made her resentment grow even more. After numerous attempts to get rid of the child, she became restless. By the time her boy reached his third month, Hind had begun to fracture beneath the weight of him, not just the child, but the silence that followed his birth. No one spoke of her. The village kept its distance, as if her presence might sour the crops or summon another storm. She was alone, an outcast, unseen except by the infant who never cried, never fussed, and watched her always with those too-wide, ancient eyes.

She resented him.